Like Mother, Like Son
by jloves
Summary: Stiles has been fighting a battle on his own for the last 8 years. His mom lost the battle, but Stiles still fights. He ignores his weaknesses in order to help his friends to survive against the supernatural, but what happens when the werewolves can smell his sickness? Rated Mature for future chapters. Please review :)
1. Chapter 1

It's the calm before the storm. The other shoe just dropped. Stiles sat staring at the floor in the doctor's office waiting for his dad to finish asking questions. It's not easy being the one who can fight off an Alpha werewolf with a baseball bat only to have this happen to him.

Stiles couldn't hear what the doctor was saying. He couldn't focus on anything other than the pounding of his heart. After everything, he thought he had beaten it. He didn't have to do radiation or chemotherapy anymore. He was able to regulate it with pills. He was able to finally grow his hair out. The buzz cut was a good look on Stiles, but having hair that he can comb like everyone else did wonders for his self-esteem.

Stiles fidgeted and tried not to contemplate the outcomes of what the doctor was saying. It was back. After being in remission since the spring of his sophomore year, he had his whole life to look forward to. Then the alpha pack showed up and caused so much chaos. Taking his pills daily was something he was used to. But after what happened at the Motel and losing his pills, Stiles was afraid to ask his dad for some more. They were expensive.

So Stiles had spent the better part of two months not taking his pills. He thought waiting for the next prescription refill wouldn't do anything. He was in remission after all. How could that do so much damage to him? Stiles closed his eyes and felt the tears filling up in his eyes.

How could he ever look at his dad again? Or Scott? God, Scott didn't even know he was sick. No one in the pack knew. That was the promise he made his father make so that he wouldn't be that kid. The kid whose mom died of cancer, only to have him following in her footsteps. 8 years of oncologists and pills and radiation treatments and side effects of everything. 8 years of battling everything only to be told he was fine.

Until today. Today was the worst day of his life.

Stiles nearly jumped when he felt his father's hand touch his. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked at his dad.

"I'm so sorry, dad," he barely whispered. His dad had on a sad smile as he wiped Stiles' tears from his cheeks.

"It's okay. We'll figure something out. We'll get past this somehow," his dad promised before he pulled Stiles into a hug. Stiles felt overwhelmed as his body shook with silent sobs, tears flowing from his eyes.

Not once did the sheriff shed a tear. He just held his son for as long as he needed. There would be a time for his tears, but it is not today.

Stiles sat down at his desk staring blankly at his computer. He wasn't needed to research anything for the pack in a long time. His fingers and brain were itching for some kind of supernatural baddie to show up so that he could focus on anything else. Anything would be better than researching the one thing he had dreaded all his life.

He glared at his Google search bar. "How to tell your best friend that you're going to die like that girl in that movie from years ago?"

Not his best Google-fu, but at least it was something.

"Stiles?"

Stiles glanced up at his dad who looked like he had been standing in his doorway for a while. Stiles just bit his lower lip as he felt the tears fall down his cheeks. He didn't know what to say. For the first time in his life, he didn't want to say anything at all.

His dad cleared his throat and moved over to him. As he crouched down, the sheriff took Stiles' hand. "I know that this is a lot to handle right now, son. If you want to stay home today you can. I'll call the school—"

"To tell them that I'm home sick?" Stiles whispered sarcastically.

The sheriff looked down and shook his head slowly. "I could always say you have explosive diarrhea," his dad tried to joke. He gave his son a small smile.

Stiles gave his dad a watery smile, "If only."

The sheriff took a deep breath before he patted his son on the shoulder. "Whatever you need, Stiles, just tell me. The doctor will have information for us soon for treatments. We'll figure something out."

Stiles nodded. He watched as his dad left the room and waited for the sheriff to drive out of the driveway before he threw his chemistry textbook across the room.

Stiles wanted to scream or shout or hit something. He wanted to do anything else but sit here and think about what this means to him, to his dad, to his friends, and to quickly disappearing future. He didn't want to listen to the doctor who said his best chance was to go to Germany for an experimental treatment. Experimental, ha! Experimental meant expensive and he was not going to use his last few months on this Earth causing his father to go bankrupt.

So how was he going to spend his last few months? Stiles wiped his face with his shoulder before he picked up a pen and his notebook for chemistry class. He could always make a list.

Stiles stared at the blank piece of paper for the better part of ten minutes before his phone buzzed alerting him of a text message.

**[From Scott]  
Dude, where r u? Class in 15.**

School. Stay home and veg in front of the tv or laptop all day. School where he could pretend for a little while that he wasn't sick, where he could see his friends. Home where he could curl up into a ball and cry himself to sleep. School it is.

Stiles shook his head and quickly sent a message back saying he was on his way. He sent off a second letting his dad know he was heading to school. There was no point sitting at home when he could be at school learning about stuff that he will never use in the future. Stiles smiled softly. This was the first time that he could legitimately state that to Mr. Harris who couldn't dispute it.

He didn't have a future. Stiles gathered up his things, including the scuffed up chemistry textbook before heading downstairs and out the door to his jeep. He threw everything into the backseat before flooring it to school.

It's not like his dad was going to pull him over for speeding.


	2. Chapter 2

So apparently there was a difference between sitting in the parking lot at the school and actually being in the classroom. What's the big deal? It's not like he was missing anything important.

Stiles sat staring at the school from the driver's seat of his jeep. First period had already started and he was late. He could either go late into Harris's class (so not happening) or he could sit out in the jeep until the bell for second period rang.

Stiles sighed and leaned back into the seat. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. If he squinted and searched really hard, he would be able to make out where his class was from the jeep. That should be sufficient enough should he be asked what they did in class. Harris yelled at the students and assigned them too much homework. It was the same routine every class period. Only sometimes Stiles and/or Scott would get detention. Throwing the paper ball at the back of Harris's head had so been worth the detention.

Stiles glanced at the clock in his jeep. He had about ten minutes before the bell would ring. Stiles closed his eyes and tried to will himself out of the jeep. He had made it all the way here, so why wasn't he going into the school?

Because they'd know.

Stiles clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He remembered Scott telling him that Gerard had smelled wrong because he was dying from the cancer. That's why he threatened Scott's mom into having Derek give him the bite.

If Stiles walked into that school, any one of the werewolves would know. Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Ethan, and even Aiden would know from one whiff of L'eau de Stiles. He couldn't do it. Not yet. He couldn't let them know just yet. He wasn't ready. He needed a plan to tell them, especially Scott. Scott would be the hardest to tell.

How did you tell your best friend that for the last 8 years you were fighting the cancer battle only to lose? How did you tell the guy you considered your brother that you had less than a handful of months to live?

You didn't. You just didn't tell them. Stiles knew it was a crappy idea to keep it from Scott and his werewolf nose, but this wasn't about Scott. This wasn't about everything that had happened to his best friend. This was something that Stiles had to deal with on his own terms first before he could have his best friend know.

Stiles was reaching to turn the jeep back on when he felt the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. Crap. He hesitated to look at the new text message. It had to be Scott. He realized that Scott would be able to see him in the parking lot from the classroom window. Stiles pulled his phone out.

**[From Scott]  
Dude, wth! Ur late!**

Stiles stared at the phone. The biggest concern Scott had right now was that Stiles wasn't in the classroom sitting next to him listening to Harris lecture. The single most important thing that Scott was worried about was Stiles being late.

Stiles dropped the phone on the seat and punched the steering wheel screaming in aggravation. The only concern the stupid werewolf had was school! Of all the things. Stiles balled his hands into fists and slammed his forehead into the steering wheel, tears beginning to fill his eyes.

The silent sobs began to shake Stiles body again. He felt his chest beginning to constrict and the air escaping his lungs. His right hand held tight to the front of his shirt as he gasped for air. A panic attack? Seriously?! As if today couldn't be any crappier!

Stiles screamed in frustration as much as he could with the little amount of air reaching his lungs. His heart was racing and he was beginning to feel faint. Stiles tried to calm down by telling himself it was a panic attack, that all he had to do was breathe. But nothing was working.

He lunged over to his glove box and ripped his old, disgusting inhaler from the bottom of all of the papers. He could have sworn he heard buzzing, but that had to be his imagination.

When trying to shake the inhaler, Stiles realized it was empty. EMPTY! Stiles was gasping for air and he had no way to breathe! He felt more tears falling down his cheeks and was getting tunnel vision. He hadn't had a panic attack this bad since…since…

Just as he felt he was going to black out, the door to his jeep was ripped open and a hand landed on his chest. He saw black veins appeared on the hand and disappear underneath a navy blue long sleeve shirt. Stiles wasn't sure what was happening, but he was sure he could hear someone telling him to breathe.

He took a slow breath before promptly fainting.

When Stiles came to, he found two strong arms wrapped around his body and resting on his stomach and chest. When he glanced around the jeep, he realized that the jeep wasn't parked at the school anymore. Damn his chest hurt.

Stiles tried to disengage the arms so that he could rub his chest but the arms wouldn't budge. His eyes widened as he watched the black veins appear on the arms again. The pain in his chest began to lessen.

Stiles sighed and leaned against the muscly chest behind him. He wasn't sure who his savior was, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the whatever. He closed his eyes and focused on taking a breath in and out.

"Better?" he heard the man whisper behind him. Stiles bit his lower lip before nodding.

Better? Ha! He just narrowly escaped dying from a freaking panic attack. Now that was a way to go out. Death by overreacting because a friend was worried he wasn't in class. He started to imagine what his tombstone would say.

Here lies Stiles Stilinski, one kick ass human who forgot how to breathe correctly.

Stiles rolled his watering eyes and dug his fingers into his legs. He needed to make sure he was still alive. His pinky strayed to the legs he was he was currently sitting between. Long, lean legs in tight jeans.

"Stiles?"

Stiles didn't want to look at whoever was holding him. If he looked then he would know. He would know if the person could smell it. He would know that the guy knew he was dying. He would know that the werewolf that just saved his life knew he had an expiration date.

The hand on Stiles' stomach moved up to wipe a tear from Stiles cheek. The hand slowly turned Stiles' face to look him in the eyes.

Derek.

Of course it had to be him.

Derek freaking Hale. He was the only guy in his mid-twenties that made it a point to stalk teenagers at a high school to the point that he climbed into the sheriff's kid's jeep and kidnapped him. Only it was probably to get him away from the school to calm Stiles down. But this wasn't a time for rational thoughts.

Derek's hand moved Stiles head to rest against his muscly chest. "It's okay. I've got you. You're safe," Derek whispered as Stiles closed his eyes.

Stiles shook his head. "IT'S NOT OKAY!" he screamed as he tried to pull himself away from the Alpha werewolf. For some reason he couldn't budge either arm of the werewolf and ended up biting, hitting, punching and pinching any part of the arms he could as an attempt to get out of the older man's grasp.

"IT'S NOT OKAY! IT'S NOT OKAY!" Stiles kept shouting over and over. He could feel the hot tears flowing freely. His throat was starting to hurt. He couldn't stop though. He needed to get away from Derek before he smelled him. Before Derek knew!

He kicked his legs and tried to hit Derek in the shins to hurt him, but that backfired when Stiles jammed his shoe into the glove box. How the hell did he manage that?

Stiles let out one last shout of anger before he sagged against the werewolf in utter defeat. He couldn't get out of the werewolf's grasp any more than he could escape his fate.

"It is okay."

Stiles huffed out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "It's not," he whispered as he felt the sobs start again.

As Stiles cried against the werewolf, Derek just moved one hand soothingly up and down Stiles' chest while the other grasped Stiles' right hand and held on tightly. If Stiles had looked at Derek's face, he would have seen the single tear the man hadn't managed to hold back.


	3. Chapter 3

It seemed like hours had passed since he broke down in front of Derek in the jeep. Stiles sat staring out the window, his tears and sobs having stopped. He felt numb. And not a good kind of numb where the pain is gone, but it was the kind of numb where you just didn't have any more emotion left to spare. He'd cried it all out. Now all he felt was numb…and tired.

Stiles wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. He could still feel the soft pressure of Derek's hand on his chest drawing little circles over his heart while the other held Stiles' hand.

If this had been any other panic attack or any other situation, Stiles would have made sarcastic comments, made Derek uncomfortable until he let Stiles go, and then would have kicked the damn wolf out onto the street.

But it wasn't any other panic attack. It was a full on scary episode where Stiles had passed out. It wasn't any other situation. Stiles was sick. He was dying and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

"I know you are upset, but I really need you to say something. Anything at all," Derek whispered. His stubbly cheek brushed against Stiles' neck as he spoke. Stiles suppressed a shiver at the foreign feeling. Since when did it feel good to have someone rub their unshaven face against his neck?

Stiles considered what Derek had said, but it didn't feel right to say anything in response. He just rubbed his cheek against Derek's slightly before turning away from Derek as much as he could and closed his eyes. With the soreness in his throat and the tear stained cheeks, he was pretty sure that if he said a syllable he would break down again.

Stiles felt Derek squeeze his hand again; silently asking the boy to say something to reassure the wolf that he was still there.

Stiles bit his lower lip and shook his head. He couldn't do it. He didn't have enough water in his body to continue this way, crying at a drop of a hat. All he could do was squeeze Derek's hand as tight as he could before he moved himself away from the man.

This time Derek let him move away without a fight. Stiles disentangled his foot from the glove box and climbed out of the jeep. He left the door open knowing the werewolf would follow him out eventually. He took a moment to look at his surroundings and realized they were at the edge of the preserve near Derek's new loft.

Stiles sighed and absentmindedly kicked at a rock while stuffing his hands in his pockets. There was no point denying that Derek could tell Stiles was sick and dying. But in Stiles' mind, if he just ignored the problem, it would eventually go away…right?

Stiles moved towards a giant rock and sat down. He eyes traveled up to the sky to find that it was barely noon. How long was he out? How long had Derek held him?

Hold the phone. Why the hell was Derek holding him? Stiles' head spun towards the jeep only to find Derek sitting right next to him on the rock. Stiles did not jump at all, nor did he flinch or have a mini heart attack at the super quiet werewolf.

Derek wasn't looking at him, just staring at the trees in front of them. Stiles took a moment to really look at the man. His long sleeve shirt was wrinkled all to hell and even had holes in it. Holes that looked like teeth marks. Either Stiles' teeth were getting stronger or this was one of Derek's training shirts.

Derek slowly turned to look at Stiles. He didn't say anything, just sat there waiting for Stiles to say something. Stiles turned away quickly to stare at his shoes. Hell would freeze over before he discussed his feelings with Derek Hale. It didn't matter that the man had held him while he bawled like a four year old child. Stiles tried to suppress a shiver at the memory of his break down.

He nearly jumped when Derek got up and left him alone on the rock. Fine, leave! Stiles thought to himself as he curled his legs up against his chest and rested his chin on his knees. No sooner had he wrapped his arms around his legs did he feel a heavy fabric fall over his shoulders.

Stiles glanced up in surprise as Derek crouched in front of him, wrapping the werewolf's leather jacket loosely around Stiles' shoulders. Derek locked eyes with Stiles for a split second before the werewolf sat next to Stiles, his shoulder touching Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles pulled the jacket tighter around himself as he stared off into space again. He wasn't one to usually like silence, but he was suddenly glad that it was Derek that had found him. If it had been Scott or Erica or even Boyd, they would have badgered Stiles until he told them everything they wanted to know so that they'd just leave him in peace. Derek didn't say a word. He just sat there waiting patiently.

After a while, Stiles felt himself nodding off. His body was already stressing due to the panic attack and several crying fits, so it was natural for his body to be fatigued. He turned towards Derek and whispered, "Drive me home, please?"

Derek touched Stiles' hand closest to him before standing up. He reached out a hand to help Stiles stand before leading the teen back to the jeep. After Stiles was buckled up and wrapped cozily with the leather jacket across his lap, Derek drove him home. The jeep had barely pulled out of the parking spot before Stiles' eyes shut for a nap.

When Stiles opened his eyes next, he found himself being carried bridal style up to his room. Derek didn't even look like he had broken a sweat when he laid Stiles onto the bed.

Stiles knew he should feel embarrassed. Derek and he didn't even get along, so why the hell was he being nice to Stiles? Oh yeah. The dying thing. Stiles guessed it would even make Jackson be nice to him. He ignored that thought and watched as Derek pulled off Stiles' shoes. Stiles would have protested had he enough strength to even sit up, but he didn't so the big bad Alpha werewolf took off Stiles' shoes and helped him under the covers to take a nap.

As Stiles shifted slightly to get his head at the right angle on the pillow, he noticed Derek just staring at him. It looked like the werewolf was having some kind of internal struggle the way his face was scrunched up tighter than usual. Was Derek going to leave? Did Stiles want him to?

Stiles didn't know anymore. He just closed his eyes and shut out the world. So maybe he could just sleep the rest of his life away? It wasn't until he felt the bed sinking near his feet that he knew the werewolf wasn't leaving his side. He opened an eye to see the werewolf sitting facing the wall, the leather jacket in his hands. Stiles shrugged and closed his eyes again.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ugh," Stiles whispered as he felt himself waking up. His head felt like it was going to explode. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed at his neck. He coughed slightly, his throat still a little sore.

As he sat up, Stiles noticed he was alone in his room and it was dark outside. How long had he slept? He stretched as best he could with his headache and slipped on the lamp next to his bed. After his eyes had adjusted, he saw a glass of water and some pills next to it. Rolling his eyes, he reached over and examined the pills.

Ordinary Ibuprofen. Stiles huffed. Apparently his father had to set out pills for him now to remind him to take them. Stiles popped them in his mouth and downed the full glass of water, enjoying the refreshing feeling of it going down his throat. He coughed again before setting the glass down. He supposed he shouldn't be upset that his father was leaving him pills considering Stiles' track record in medicating himself.

How'd his father know he would need pain killers for a headache?

Stiles nearly jumped as the door to his bedroom opened and Derek walked in. Derek didn't make eye contact but he did glance at the nightstand and the missing pills. He stepped towards Stiles and held out a bowl of soup.

From the smell of it Stiles could tell it was Chicken Noodle Soup. He gave the werewolf a confused look before taking the bowl.

Derek looked unsure of something before he whispered, "You didn't eat anything today. I figured you might need something."

Stiles couldn't help feeling surprised. This was a nice gesture. But this was also Derek Hale. This was the same Hale that had held him as he broke down, and then carried Stiles to his bed. Wow. Stiles had never thought that he would say a sentence like that ever. Especially the carrying to the bed part.

He lifted the bowl to his nose and breathed deeply. The soup did smell amazing.

When he opened his eyes to look at Derek, the werewolf had a spoon inches from Stiles' face. Stiles flinched back before taking the spoon. He watched as the werewolf sat at the desk. The werewolf just stared at the bowl of soup as if it were an enemy that needed to be destroyed. He glanced up only once at Stiles and then quickly back at the soup.

Stiles understood now. He was waiting for Stiles to eat. He was probably waiting until Stiles ate so that he could ask the question. The only question that could be asked was how Stiles had returned from a family vacation with his dad smelling like death.

Stiles was not going to have that conversation with anyone any time soon. Especially with Derek. Especially right now. He slowly ate the soup and refused to take his eyes off of the bowl. If he ignored the werewolf, maybe Derek would leave. Ha, like things would start going his way now.

The family vacation hadn't been exactly a vacation. Stiles had been overdue for his 6 month check in with his doctor to see how he was doing now that he was in remission. Only with the Alpha pack being in town and killing everyone, Stiles had convinced his dad to put off the trip. The excuse was the track season as Stiles was actually pretty fast. Well, maybe his teammates would get faster if they were regularly chased by supernatural creatures that wanted to kill them.

Stiles slurped the last of the soup from the bowl and then set it on the nightstand. He couldn't feel the headache as much as before, probably because it was due to dehydration. Crying for days tended to dehydrate you fast. Particularly if you haven't eaten anything at all during those same few days.

He sighed and braced his elbows on his knees. Here it comes.

He had taken the pills the wolf probably set out for him and eaten the damn soup the wolf had probably made for him. So. It was time for Derek to ask the question. But he didn't say a word.

For several minutes the two just sat there in silence. Stiles lifted his head and made eye contact with Derek.

"I wasn't sure if you had some other kind of pills that you needed to take, so I just grabbed the safest thing I could find in the medicine cabinet," the werewolf whispered.

That wasn't exactly what Stiles thought he'd say. He gave the werewolf a confused look before glancing at the pill bottle next to his laptop. Would it make him die faster if he didn't take the pills? Or would it have little to no affect?

"Stiles?"

Stiles looked back at Derek. He cleared his throat before responding, "No, it was fine. I have to take the other pills with food." He nodded his head towards the pill bottle. Derek reached over and took it in his hand.

Stiles stood quickly and ripped it from the werewolf's hands. "Don't. Touch. That. Ever," Stiles nearly shouted. He hurried to the bathroom and locked the door. Derek couldn't see it. If he read the label he would know. He would know. Derek would know what the pills were for and then he would know.

Stiles' hands were shaking as he set the bottle down and slid to the floor in front of the sink. He could feel his heart beating faster than normal. His breaths were shorter and faster. Another one? Twice in one day?

He pressed his hand to his chest and whispered over and over to himself that he is okay. He's okay. It is just a pill bottle, not the end of the world. But the last time someone touched a bottle of his pills, Stiles' never saw those pills again. His future had disappeared and was replaced with an expiration date.

Stiles could feel his eyes watering, but he couldn't do it. He wasn't going to cry again over a stupid bottle of pills. What was he? Some emotionally teenage girl? Or was he a BAMF that fought dangerous werewolves, kanimas, and hunters?

Stiles heard the rattling of the doorknob. Derek was trying to get in. Stiles shook his head. He wasn't going to let him in no matter what. After a couple of seconds a hand appeared under the door.

"Just touch my hand. Just touch it, please. God, Stiles," Derek's voice carried into the bathroom. Stiles started shaking his head. He was already gasping for breath, but he couldn't let himself panic again.

"Stiles, just do what you are told for once in your measly teenage existence!"

Stiles leaned his forehead against the sink and flattened his hands against the floor. It wouldn't help. Nothing would help him now. The tears felt too hot as they poured out of Stiles' eyes.

"STILES! Please!" If Stiles hadn't thought he was imagining it, he could have sworn he heard a whimper. Was that Stiles or Derek?

Stiles could hear scraping and the doorknob was rattling. He slid to the floor fully onto his back and stretched his hand out. As soon as his pinky touched Derek's hand, he felt himself being able to breathe a little better. He closed his eyes and started counting in fours to distract his mind.

He took a slow deep breath and counted to four before letting it go. He counted to four again as he inhaled.

One. Two. Three. Four. Inhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Exhale.

He didn't realize that he was counting out loud or that the werewolf on the other side had managed to pull his hand close enough so that they were holding hands again.

Stiles imagined that the soft whimpering he heard was coming from himself and not the werewolf on the other side of the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Eventually he will have to get off of the floor. It's disgusting. And dirty. And not to mention the smell of the laundry was getting to him. But Stiles didn't want to. The floor was chilled against his back and the hand holding his was surprisingly warm. Although his head was angled weird and his neck would hurt, he just laid there. Staring at the ceiling. The last time he had stayed on the floor like this was 9 years ago.

He had just gotten back from his mom's funeral and the house was full of strangers crying about his mom's passing. Stiles had laid on the floor and refused to let anyone in to use the bathroom. The stupid people could go away. They didn't know his mom. Today was the first time he had seen most of them. How dare they act like they were broken too!

Stiles had hated his mom for leaving. For not beating the cancer. Of everything she had ever said they would do once she was out of the hospital. They never went to the beach. They never went to the park. She wasn't there when he finished elementary school or got into his first fight in junior high.

She wasn't there when he got his first detention. Or when he learned how to drive. She wasn't there to hand over the keys to the jeep to him when he got his license. She wasn't there when he finally got a girl to date him.

She wasn't there when he needed to talk. She wasn't there when he had to sit in the reclining chair for his first round of chemo. She wasn't there when he threw up everything he had ever eaten. Or when his dad shaved Stiles' head for the first time.

But she'll be there when he dies.

Stiles rubbed his free hand across his eyes. If he wasn't looking at a picture, he couldn't remember what she looked like. She was bald and frail and pale when she died. Her beautiful brown hair had started falling out early into the treatment. He remembered getting to help her pick out a wig.

A bright red haired one that went down past her shoulders. Her honey brown eyes always lit up when she wore that wig. She used to tell him how her hair looked when she was growing up. Stiles had seen the pictures and had thanked God he didn't have to grow up in the 70s or 80s. Some trends just should not be followed.

Stiles smiled as he ran his hands through his hair. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it was her running her hands through it. He could imagine her holding him and whispering that everything would be okay. He would cry some more but she would force him to get off the floor and to eat something. She wouldn't have let him forget about his pills. She would have been the one to tell everything to. Stiles would have told her about Scott becoming a werewolf.

Stiles laughed softly. She never would have let him search the woods for a dead body! She would have grounded him and nailed his window shut. Scott wouldn't be a werewolf. They wouldn't have been fighting for their lives every day for over a year.

If Scott had still managed to become a wolf, she would have been the one to turn the pack around. She could give Peter a run for his money. Derek wouldn't be such a broody alpha either. She'd have made food for the pack and had them over every week. She would have kept his dad in line when it came to junk food.

Stiles and his dad might have snuck off for some burgers and curly fries as their own little secret. His life would have been so different.

But it wasn't. Stiles wasn't going to walk out of the bathroom into his mom's waiting arms. He was going to have a moody werewolf that held him and let him take everything out on him. His mom would have liked Derek. She always said that the ones who say the least were the ones who needed to talk the most.

So maybe he should get off the floor. If for nothing else because his mom would have made him.

Stiles released Derek's hand and slowly lifted himself off of the floor. He rested his palms on the counter and stared into the mirror. He stared at his eyes and imagined it was his mom looking right back at him. "It's going to be okay," he whispered to himself. He imagined it was in her voice.

Stiles smiled softly to himself before unlocking and opening the bathroom door. He looked at the empty hallway and nearly laughed. Derek had disappeared. Stiles grabbed his pill bottle and walked to his room. No Derek there either. He followed the hallway and headed down the stairs. No Derek in the living room or dining room either.

The werewolf was in the kitchen heating up the soup on the stove. It looked so natural for Derek to stand in front of the stove and stir the pot. Stiles leaned against the doorway and watched him. He felt like he could stay there all day just watching Derek do something normal. No evil supernatural bad guy to fight off. Just time to eat something.

When Derek turned off the stove, he filled the soup into two bowls and set the table. He filled two glasses of water and then sat down. His eyes slowly lifted to look at Stiles expectantly.

Stiles sighed and slid into the seat across from Derek. The small table was rarely used as his dad and he usually sat at the dining table. This felt more intimate. Stiles copied Derek's movements and began to eat the soup.

Chicken noodle. It was just as delicious as it had been upstairs. Stiles couldn't help it. He woofed down the soup (and laughed at the pun). He was starving. When he had practically licked the bowl clean, he looked up to see Derek's spoon paused halfway to the werewolf's mouth.

Stiles felt himself blush before setting his spoon back into his bowl and pushed it away. He cleared his throat. "Thank you."

Derek nodded and resumed eating. His eyes glanced at the forgotten pill bottle next to Stiles. Stiles took a deep breath before popping the lid and taking out his pill. After he had gulped down the glass of water, Stiles recapped the pill bottle. He stared at the label while Derek resumed eating.

Stupid werewolf making sure he took his damn pill. Leave it to the one with the least nurturing instincts to take care of the dying boy. Stiles fiddled with the strings of his hoodie. The only noises were from Derek slurping the soup from each spoonful. It was kind of comforting.

He lifted his eyes as he heard his dad's patrol car in the driveway.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles just sat there staring at the werewolf as Derek piled all of the dirty dishes in the sink. The werewolf went around the kitchen cleaning and organizing everything. He should be leaving. Stiles' dad was going to walk into the house any second now. Stiles wasn't sure if he even wanted the werewolf to leave, not yet. He still needed him. Wow, that was a weird thought. He moved his pill bottle over to the kitchen counter to remind himself to take his pill with food.

When he looked back up at Derek, he saw the werewolf was frozen in place. He was hunched over the sink with his head tilted towards the driveway. Stiles was familiar with that stance. It was the stance the werewolf usually got into before he told Stiles or Scott bad news. Yeah, Stiles was used to that stance.

Stiles just stared at the man for a few minutes. His dad still hadn't come into the house. Derek hadn't left yet either. Something was wrong.

The house was too quiet. He needed to know what was going on. His dad never took so long to get into the house. Stiles had learned that the hard way whenever he and Scott were up to no good. He stood and walked over to the werewolf.

"Derek?" he asked. The werewolf hadn't moved and wasn't looking at Stiles. He was staring at the sink as if it had personally offended him. Stiles reached over and placed his hand on Derek's shoulder. The werewolf didn't flinch or move away. He just stood there. Stiles used his hand to turn Derek's face towards his.

Derek wouldn't look Stiles in the eye. He just turned his head away from the boy, his fingers white knuckled on the counter. Stiles set his hand on Derek's. Still the werewolf wouldn't look at him.

"Derek?" he whispered. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. Was he not looking at him because he was mad? Or did something happen to the sheriff?

"My dad? Is—is he okay?"

Derek's head swung up and Stiles knew why the werewolf had hidden his face. Derek's eyes were watery and a tear had escaped. He'd never seen the werewolf like this before. Stiles took a step closer to Derek. Why wasn't he answering him about the sheriff?

"Derek?"

Derek looked down and shook his head. He brushed away the tear quickly before whispering, "Your dad just needs a few minutes alone in the car, Stiles."

That's it? That's all he is going to say? What the hell does his dad need to do in the car that he can't in the house?

Derek moved to go around Stiles, but the boy blocked him. Derek tried to go the other way, but Stiles moved into his path.

"Why does my dad need a few minutes? Answer me!"

Derek took a deep breath but refused to answer. He moved back towards the sink and rested his palms on the counter. His eyes stayed trained on the floor.

"Derek!" Stiles nearly screamed. If he didn't answer him, he was going to go out to that car to find out.

Derek's eyes flew up to look at Stiles. He looked like he was having an internal conflict. Stiles turned to walk out when he heard the broken sound of Derek's voice, "He's…crying, Stiles."

Stiles stopped in his tracks. His dad? Crying? Impossible. His father never cried over anything. Not since his mom had died. Stiles was still shaking his head when he felt Derek move him to sit down in the kitchen chair. Stiles felt the soft pressure of the werewolf's hand in his.

"Stiles?" Derek's voice seemed wrong. It was soft and calm. It wasn't rough and angry like it usually was. Everything about Derek today was wrong. Today was wrong. His dad crying was wrong.

"Why?"

Derek sighed. "I don't think I should say." Because it's private and about you. Stiles could read in between the lines. He scoffed and squeezed Derek's hand.

"I need to know."

Derek seemed to consider this before nodding. His head tilted to the side as he listened for a moment. "He's yelling at God. He's praying that the doctors were wrong. He's saying that your mom would know what to do."

Stiles took a deep breath as the tears began to well up in his eyes. Derek looked pained as he listened. Stiles almost felt bad for making him do this for him. Almost.

"He wants to know why it's happening again. Why God would rip his wife from him and now his boy. Why God wants to take his boy from him."

His boy. Stiles bit his lower lip and felt the tears sliding down his cheeks. Derek's free hand reached up and wiped away the tears, but there were too many tears to catch all of them.

"He wants to know what to do. He wants to trade places with you."

Derek's thumb was making soothing patterns in Stiles' cheek.

"Your dad is asking for more time. That he'll do anything for more time. He's blaming himself and saying it's his fault for failing you."

Derek didn't say anything for a long time. It was obvious that there wasn't anything else Derek was going to tell him. Stiles felt bad for having the older man listen into his dad's private moment, but he had to know. His dad holds everything in. Stiles had to know.

Stiles just stared at the werewolf's mouth wishing that this wasn't true. That his father wasn't blaming himself. It was Stiles' fault. He had lost the pills when saving the pack at the motel. It was his fault that he hadn't told his dad about it. It was his fault he was sick again.

"Stiles, I think we should go up to your room now," Derek whispered. He stood and slowly pulled the boy to his feet. Stiles leaned on Derek as they walked up the stairs and then back up to his bedroom. His sobs were the only sounds in the house.

Derek helped him sit up on the bed before closing the bedroom door. He moved back over to Stiles.

"Is he saying anything else?" Stiles whispered. He needed to know. His dad would never tell him.

Derek shook his head. He crawled behind Stiles and pulled him in between his legs. He wrapped his arms around Stiles and leaned against the headboard.

Stiles didn't break down like he did earlier, but he did cry silently against his werewolf. His only friend that knew what was happening. The only person who had ever seen him break down like this. Stiles leaned against the werewolf and closed his eyes.

It seemed like forever before the front door opened and he heard the sheriff going through his routine after getting home from work. Stiles could hear the sheriff tossing folders and his gun onto the dining table.

He felt the need to go to his father, to hold his father and let him know it wasn't his fault. He needed his father to stop blaming himself like he did with Stiles' mom. He needed to let his dad cry. He needed to let his dad know that they would make the best out of their time together. That he wouldn't be a burden. He would be good and wouldn't get into trouble anymore. That he'd be the son his dad deserved. He'd a good son who didn't lie or break laws. He'd be what his dad needed him to be.

But Stiles couldn't move. He didn't want to move away from Derek. He didn't want to see his dad's face and see how much Stiles' illness was affecting the sheriff. He didn't want to see how much he had failed his dad.

"Do you want me to leave?" Derek whispered into the dark room.

Stiles contemplated that for a moment before replying, "Please don't leave me."


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't until his phone rang for the third time in a row that Stiles even opened his eyes. Somehow during the evening Derek had laid down on his back and Stiles curled up at his side. It was surprisingly comfortable being in the werewolf's arms. He hadn't even protested when Derek pulled Stiles up against him when Stiles tried to move away at first.

The werewolf wanted to cuddle, so Stiles felt it was only fair since he made Stiles dinner first. That was a thought that Stiles really never thought he would have in his life. He had fallen asleep with the picture of Derek wearing an apron while making dinner in the kitchen.

Now, the werewolf was asleep and the ringing phone was getting on Stiles' nerves. He slowly removed the arms from around him and slid off of the bed. It took him a moment to find the phone in the darkened room. He finally saw it on the desk and moved to pick it up.

He waited until he was in the bathroom with the door shut before he hit the accept button. It was only fair that he let the werewolf sleep as much as possible since Derek had let him nap earlier. Although, Stiles was under the impression that Derek may already be awake considering his wolfy ears.

"Hello?" he whispered into the phone.

"Thank God! Stiles! Man, what the hell?"

Stiles flinched at his best friend's screaming voice. "Scott, please be lower your voice."

"Lower my—what?!"

"Scott!" Stiles hissed.

The werewolf took a few moments before talking again. "What the hell happened today? I have been calling and texting all day. I was about to head straight to your house if you didn't answer this time."

Stiles was surprised. Why would Scott want to head over in the middle of the night? He glanced at his phone. It was barely seven o'clock. How wasn't it later? It felt like time had sped up over the day. He had been sleeping a lot.

"Scott, I'm sorry. I know I should have gone to school today, but I got…sick in my jeep."

"I know! Don't you think I saw Derek drive you away from the school? Why the hell hasn't he been answering either?"

Stiles couldn't help feeling guilty by how he had forgotten about his friend who hadn't done anything to deserve Stiles dropping off the grid all day. He took a calming breath and sat down on the edge of the tub. His free hand ran repeatedly through his hair. What could he say to explain what was going on? Stiles wasn't sure he wanted Scott to know.

"Sick? What's wrong? Why were you with Derek?"

After all, his dad knew and Stiles didn't want Scott blaming himself either. Scott wouldn't let him sit there and cry. No, Scott would ask questions until he was blue in the face. He was relentless that way when it came to his mom, Stiles' dad, or Stiles getting hurt. Scott would want to know why he wasn't told before about the cancer, and he would blame himself for Stiles losing his pills.

Stiles sighed. He needed to let his friend know. It was only fair. But did it have to be tonight?

"Please talk to me, Stiles. I've been going out of my mind. I've been calling everyone trying to see if anyone knew anything. We're all worried."

Stiles wanted to give Scott an answer, any answer. But he didn't know what to say. He could feel his eyes watering and knew he wasn't going to be able to talk long. Scott would know by the sound of his voice that something was really wrong. He hadn't cried in front of Scott in a long time. Not since the night at the motel. He shut his eyes and tried to think of something happy. He tried to focus on anything else.

Before he could say anything, he felt his phone being pulled from his hand.

"Scott, it's Derek," the werewolf said into the phone. He locked eyes with Stiles. Stiles couldn't hear Scott's reaction, but he knew by the look on Derek's face that it wasn't good.

"I'm with him now. He had a really tough day, and I was in the neighborhood. No, I did not kidnap him."

Stiles chuckled. "You kind of did," he whispered. Derek glared at Stiles. His eyes flashed red as he continued listening to Scott scream into the phone.

Derek growled before snapping, "Do you really think I would kidnap the sheriff's son? What do you mean again? When did I kidnap Stiles before?!"

Stiles smiled softly. Of course Derek would get blamed. The guy never got a break from anyone.

"That was Peter! What the hell, Scott?! I'm just saying that Stiles—no. He's fine right now. I promise. Why do you want to come over? You think I'd rip out his throat?"

"With your teeth," Stiles added. He smiled down at the floor. It seemed like a long time ago when Derek was slamming him up against walls and steering wheels.

"You want to come over and see that he is physically okay?" Derek paused and waited for Stiles to answer that question.

Stiles wasn't sure what he wanted right now, but it wasn't Scott being here. He frantically shook his head back and forth and flailed his arms to the sides.

"Yes, you can come and see that Stiles is safe."

"Traitor!" Stiles nearly yelled. He wasn't ready! There was no way he was going to let Derek make that decision. He tried to stand up and reach for the phone, but Derek pushed him back onto the tub's edge. Stiles was fuming. He could feel his face turning red, and he didn't care.

Derek just watched him as he said good bye to Scott. He hung up the phone and set it onto the counter. He leaned against the closed bathroom door and calmly waited.

Stiles started speaking a couple of times, but his anger kept him from continuing on. He opened and closed his fists several times. He couldn't even look the bastard in the eyes. What the hell? How was it Derek's decision? How could he take this decision from him?

It wasn't long before Stiles was leaping across the bathroom and pounding his fists into Derek's chest. He wasn't sure what he was saying as the words flew from his mouth.

"No right!"

"Not your choice!"

"I'm not ready!"

"Jerk!"

"I hate you!"

"Get out!"

"Leave me alone!"

Derek didn't even flinch. He just stood there and took Stiles' hits. He didn't say anything. He didn't try to block Stiles' fists, even when Stiles punched him in the face.

You'd think Stiles would have learned how much that hurt from the first time he punched Derek. Stiles moved back, cradling his hand and whimpering. He tried to sit down on the edge of the tub again only to slide onto the floor. Within seconds Derek was holding him against his chest and pulling the injured hand up to inspect.

Stiles let him do it. It took every ounce of energy and strength that Stiles had to try beat up Derek, so he had nothing left to fight Derek with. He put his face up against Derek's neck and let the tears flow. It wasn't easy holding in his frustration and hurt.

Stiles knew Derek was saying something, but he was off in his own world. He was imagining the pained and hurt look Scott was going to have on his face the moment he caught a whiff of Stiles. It took him a moment to calm down before he could understand what Derek was saying to him.

"Just cover it up."

Stiles opened his eyes and stared at where Derek cradled his hand in both of his. "What?"

Derek rubbed his cheek against Stiles' and whispered, "We can cover up the smell. If we did, you don't have to tell him. He was going to come over any way."

Stiles rolled his eyes. He knew that was true. Scott never leaves it at a call when checking on someone. He knew something was wrong. Stiles curled up into Derek's lap and let the werewolf hold him some more.

He could just tell his best friend. What would Scott do? Yell? Scream? Cry? Hit him?

Stiles wasn't sure why, but he knew Derek wouldn't let Scott hurt him, at least not today. Would he stay with him when he told Scott?

"Please don't leave me. I'm so sorry. Please don't leave me," Stiles whispered. He felt Derek tense up. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," Stiles said as he tried to untangle himself from the werewolf's grasp.

Derek pulled him right back against him. "I'm never leaving you. No matter what you say or do, I'm never going to leave you, Stiles." Stiles could feel a kiss to his temple. It was gentle, and Stiles knew Derek was telling the truth.

Stiles bit his lower lip. Derek may not leave him, but in a few months Stiles will be leaving him. Derek would stick with him throughout it all, all of his break downs. Stiles knew Derek would be there every time Stiles forgot his pill or needed to eat. Derek would hold his hand and tell him it was okay. He'd let Stiles be weak, and he wouldn't let anything happen to Stiles.

After a few moments, Derek broke the silence, "I…I'm not sure what it is, but I think it's cancer. Am I right?"

Stiles nodded. That was an obvious answer. After all, Gerard was dying of cancer before Derek was forced to bite him.

"Do you want to live?" Derek whispered, almost afraid to ask the question. Stiles felt that was a funny question. Of course he wanted to live.

He pulled away from Derek enough to look into his eyes. The werewolf was crying again. Stiles brushed away the tears before nodding.

"I know you don't want to be one," Derek started but didn't look able to finish. He just stared at Stiles as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

Stiles knew what he was going to ask. It was something he hadn't really considered. With everything that had been going on in his life, he hadn't wanted to add being a werewolf to the list. He knew he should think about it. If not for himself, he should for his dad. If he were a werewolf, he wouldn't die. He'd live. He wouldn't be defenseless anymore. He'd be able to protect his dad. He and Scott would be pack bros for real. He would have a lot of amazing abilities too.

But there was only one thing that was holding him back. Sometimes people died from the bite. Did he really want to risk his measly few months he has left to die tomorrow from a werewolf bite? Did he really want to risk losing those months he could spend with his dad?

Maybe there were treatments out there that would cure Stiles' cancer. Maybe he could be human and live. There's always hope, right?

Stiles could see why Derek was afraid to ask. It was the same reason why Derek had refused to leave his side today. Derek cared about him, and not because he was dying. Derek cared about Stiles. Leave it to him dying for the man to make a move. Stiles needed to think about it. Right now, he had an angry werewolf on his way to Stiles' house.


	8. Chapter 8

After several minutes, Stiles realized he needed to get back off of the bathroom floor and get ready to face his best friend. Whether he liked it or not, Derek was right. Scott was going to come to Stiles' home invited or not. Stiles certainly didn't want his best friend to see him on the bathroom floor like this.

Stiles pulled himself from Derek's arms. He stood shakily and collected his phone from the counter. He looked back at Derek before he led the silent werewolf down the stairs. He needed time to think about what Derek wanted from Stiles. He needed to consider his options. There was no way he would just tell Derek to bite him and hope for the best. Stiles needed to be sure there was no alternative option. But did Stiles really want to keep trying? He had already spent eight years of his life trapped and bubble wrapped. Did he really want to spend the last few months of his life moving from hospital to hospital?

Did he want to spend the rest of his life being controlled by the moon and the wolf inside of him?

As he stepped into the living room, he heard the familiar sounds of Scott's mom's car pulling up. He looked at Derek, his fear written clearly on his face. Derek pulled him in for a quick hug before he pushed the boy gently towards the couch.

"I'll answer it," he said as he walked towards the front door. Stiles was thankful that he didn't have to open the door. He sat down carefully in the middle of the couch, his usual spot when watching tv with his dad. He wondered how many games he would see with his dad before he died. No, Stiles told himself. He wasn't going to spend his the last few months of his life thinking about what he wasn't going to be able to do. He needed to focus on what he can do. He would need to focus on the positive things.

The doorbell rang. The doorbell freaking rang! The guy who he considered his brother rang the doorbell. Stiles wasn't even sure that before this that Scott knew where the doorbell was. Stiles shook his head and bit the smile back. He listened as Derek opened the door and greeted Scott. Scott's voice carried into the living room.

"Where is he?" Scott asked. Stiles heard Derek mumble something before Scott came around the corner. His best friend looked like he had been slapped across the face as his nostrils flared. He looked Stiles up and down before shaking his head in disbelief. Stiles held his breath as he waited for his best friend's reaction.

"No, Stiles," Scott whispered as he stepped farther into the living room. Derek stood just behind him. Stiles met Derek's eyes. His eyes seemed calm and comforting. Stiles released the breath he was holding and focused back on Scott.

Scott took a step forward, his hand reaching out towards his best friend. It paused before curling into a fist and falling to his side. Stiles just stared at the fist. He couldn't look at Scott's eyes. He couldn't. He sat on the couch, his own hands set trembling in his lap. There was no way Scott didn't know. Stiles felt grateful for the wolfy sense of smell as he didn't have to say the words.

Scott kneeled in front of Stiles and touched his knee. He just kneeled there and didn't say a word. When Stiles finally looked up, he saw his friend's tears running down his cheeks. His own face mirrored his best friend's as they sat there.

Scott didn't look mad. He looked shocked and defeated. The only other time Stiles had ever seen that face was when the young werewolf held the flare over his gasoline covered body. Stiles had sworn to never make Scott feel that way again. And here he was, causing his best friend's pain.

Derek's hand appeared onto Scott's shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. The younger werewolf didn't shake it off. He actually seemed to lean in towards it. Stiles couldn't look at Derek. Derek understood. He knew what was going on in Stiles' mind. Stiles couldn't think of anything to say. He just sat there crying with his best friend for several minutes.

After the sobs began, Stiles took a deep breath. He needed to be strong. He needed to show Scott that he would be okay. "Scott," Stiles didn't recognize his own broken voice. His best friend moved so that he held onto Stiles' hand as if it were the most fragile thing in the world. His best friend just stared at where they were connected. Stiles held onto his friend's hand as tight as he could.

"I'm so sorry, Scott."

Stiles watched as his best friend shook his head defiantly. He yelped as Scott pulled him into a tight hug. "No," the young werewolf kept whispering over and over. "Not you, Stiles."

Stiles felt his whole body trembling and shaking in his best friend's arms. It wasn't long before he noticed they were alone in the room. Derek had left them some privacy. Stiles was grateful once again that it was Derek that had found him and took care of him today. The werewolf was full of surprises.

Scott moved so he could sit next to Stiles. He didn't say anything, just stared at the coffee table. His blank face worried Stiles.

"Scott, please…just say something," Stiles whispered. Scott lifted his head to look at him. His eyes were still watery, but the tears had slowed down considerably.

Scott took a few calming breaths before he spoke, "This is why you weren't in school?"

Stiles nodded. Here came all of the questions. He knew Scott needed this so he just sat there waiting for each one.

"And Derek knows?"

"He found me. I was panicking and he took care of me."

Scott's eyebrows rose in surprise. His eyes flashed towards the kitchen where Derek was no doubt lurking. Stiles stared into the kitchen. The place where Derek had made him soup and forced him to eat it and take his pill. Okay, so there wasn't any real force, but it's Derek.

Scott turned back towards Stiles. "When did you…?"

"Eight years now. I was diagnosed eight years ago."

"But I never smelt it until I walked in the door just now. Your house has never smelled like this before," Scott stated as if that alone would make the problem go away.

Stiles shook his head. "I was in remission around the time you were bitten." He took a moment to gather his thoughts before he sat on his hands. The damn things wouldn't stop trembling. "I was taking pills but it came back."

Scott shook his head. "There's no way! I've never seen you take pills for this, only for ADHD!"

Stiles nodded slowly. "I was taking them regularly, but I…ran out of them. When waiting for the refill, the cancer grew back rapidly."

Scott leapt off of the couch and began to pace the living room. He looked like he wanted to hit something or someone. He turned to look at Stiles, but he couldn't say anything. He just resumed his pacing before he pulled his phone from his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked.

Scott didn't look up. He just kept going through his phone. "My mom would know what to do. If we can't fix this through medicine, Deaton will know. We have to get someone." He moved towards Stiles and kneeled in front of him again. "I'm going to fix this. You aren't going to die. I can't let you die."

Stiles bit back his tears again and shook his head. "Scott, I just spent 8 years of my life going from hospital to hospital, doctor to doctor, and dealt with radiation and chemotherapy. I'm not going to sit here and have you and Deaton try every kind of magical cure-all on me," he stated as calmly and unwavering as he could.

"I don't want to die like my mom in a hospital bed tied up to tubes and wires," Stiles whispered. He felt the werewolf's presence before he saw it. Derek had come back into the room and was already pulling Stiles against his chest.

"I don't want to die," Stiles whispered as he broke down against his werewolf. His best friend looked more horrified at what Stiles said rather than Stiles being cuddled by Derek Hale.

Scott reached over and held on tight to Stiles' hands. "I can't do nothing. I'm an Alpha now. You could become a werewolf." Derek's hold on Stiles tightened as if to say that was his vote.

Stiles sobbed and shook his head. "I know, but I can't do this all to my dad. He doesn't know. He can't know. It's dangerous. He'll break."

Derek moved Stiles' face to against his neck and pulled him farther onto his lap. Between the two werewolves offering him comfort and his sobbing, Stiles hadn't noticed his dad standing in the hallway.

He hadn't noticed how Derek's eyes turned red as they locked eyes with the sheriff. He didn't notice the way the sheriff's eyes watered before he bit back the tears and walked into the dining room. The only thing Stiles focused on was the safety and comfort Derek was providing him.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles was slowly becoming accustomed to the werewolf calming him down and comforting him. He didn't know how it had happened, but Derek was quickly becoming a necessity in Stiles' life. He slid off of Derek's lap but kept a grip on the werewolf. He nuzzled into the werewolf's neck and sighed. In Derek's arms, he wasn't dying or weak or pathetic. He felt safe and for the first time in a long time felt like he knew where he belonged.

Whoa, Stiles thought. Maybe he should file away that weird thought for discussion later. For a long, long time from now. He was moving away from the werewolf when Derek's grip on his tightened. Stiles felt Scott squeeze his hand before it disappeared from Stiles' grasp.

Stiles tried to pull away from Derek, but he froze at the sound of a gun cocking. Stiles turned his head slightly to see the sheriff holding his police issued fire arm at him. Or rather, he was aiming at Derek's head.

Derek slowly moved Stiles away from him as he stood. Stiles remained seated as he watched the werewolf take a few cautious steps away from Scott and Stiles. The sheriff kept his gun focused on Derek.

"Dad, what are you doing?" Stiles cautiously asked as he kept looking between his father and his werewolf. He looked over at Scott who mirrored his concern and fear. Stiles knew his father, and he felt his father wouldn't really shoot Derek. At least, he hoped his father wouldn't shoot the werewolf.

The sheriff sighed before saying calmly, "I don't know what the hell you are, Hale, but humans do not have red flashing eyes. And if what I overheard was true, you need to leave my home now or I will shoot you where you stand."

"Dad, no!" Stiles shouted as he jumped up from the couch. He moved towards Derek, but Scott stopped him by grabbing his arm. "Let. Me. Go," he growled at his best friend.

Scott's eyes widened at Stiles, but he didn't release the teen. Stiles huffed in frustration and turned his attention back on his dad. "Dad, put down your gun."

"No. I overheard you all. Werewolves? You are not turning my son into a murdering monster."

"He's not a murder, Dad! Well, not a murder for what you think," Stiles said. He glanced at Derek to see the werewolf give him a dirty look. "What? It's not like he stayed dead," Stiles whispered so that only the werewolves could hear.

"Stiles, they were talking about turning you into a werewolf to keep you from dying!" the sheriff yelled.

Werewolves. He overhead them. How the hell did the sheriff eavesdrop when there were two Alpha werewolves in the room?

How could his dad find out about the werewolves this way?

Stiles felt his heart starting to speed up. No, not like this. Not like this. His dad couldn't find out about werewolves like this. His dad can't know. He can't let his dad be in danger this way. Stiles knew what happened to humans who found out. He couldn't breathe. Stiles tried to take a deep breath, but it wasn't working. His dad couldn't know.

He tried to count to four and breathe to keep the fast approaching panic attack to go away, but it wasn't working. He kept glancing at the weapon in his father's hands and Derek. His dad can't know about werewolves. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair repeatedly.

"Stiles, breathe," Derek whispered and took a step towards the boy. He moved his hands up in surrender when the sheriff told him to freeze.

Stiles couldn't focus on anything. He could feel his best friend's hand on his, but it didn't feel right. He put his hand on his chest and willed himself to calm down. His dad is logical. He won't just shoot a guest in his home. Technically, Derek has never been a guest in the sheriff's home. He just sort of made himself at home.

"Sheriff, I know you are scared and very worried for your son right now, but I need to touch your son," Derek said as he motioned towards Stiles. Stiles found himself sitting on the couch somehow and closed his eyes. Maybe if he couldn't see his dad, it wasn't happening. The problem would go away. Derek would be fine, and Stiles wouldn't be having a heart attack.

"You most certainly do not 'need' to touch my son, Hale!" the sheriff shouted.

"Sir, I need to so that he will calm down," Derek replied. "He is panicking. You know what he is like when he panics."

The sheriff turned his focus on his son as if seeing him for the first time. Stiles opened his eyes and met his father's worried ones. Stiles tried to say something, but he could only make gasping breathes. He shook his head and leaned to put his head between his knees.

One, two, three, four, breathe in.

"Sheriff, please."

One, two, three, four, breathe out.

"Please, Mr. Stilinski, I know you don't understand. Just let him."

One, two, three, four, breathe in.

"If you try anything-"

"I won't."

One, two, three, four.

"Breathe out, Stiles," Derek whispered as he kneeled in front of the boy. Stiles could feel Derek's hands on his back. One traveled to his chest, and Stiles felt he could breathe out more easily. He kept counting along with Derek until he could lift his head.

Derek wiped the tears from his face and pushed their forehead together. "I'm okay. Your dad's okay. You're okay."

Stiles shook his head as more tears fell. "Nothing is ever going to be okay. He knows, Derek. He can't know."

"It is okay, Stiles," Derek whispered and pushed a strand of Stiles' hair from his forehead.

"Stiles?"

Stiles looked at his dad as Derek pulled away. The poor sheriff had lowered his gun and looked like he was lost and confused. Stiles moved slowly away from the werewolves and moved shakily to his dad. He almost collapsed to the floor just before his dad pulled him into a hug.

"I'm so sorry, Stiles. I usually know what to do when you panic," he whispered against his son's neck. "I couldn't do anything. I didn't know what to do."

"It's not your fault, Dad," Stiles said. He just held onto his dad and let his tears fall. He could hear his dad's sobs, but he didn't say a word.

After a few moments, the sheriff pulled back and held onto Stiles' shoulders. "I don't know what he just did, but it doesn't excuse him being from being a werewolf."

Stiles wasn't sure how to respond. He just nodded and lowered his eyes as his dad continued.

"Werewolves, Stiles? What the hell has been going on? Since when have you been mixed up with this?"

Stiles shrugged slightly. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't find the words. He never wanted his dad to know because he knew his dad would be in more danger. He couldn't lose the only parent he had left.

"It happened the night you found Laura Hale's body, Mr. Stilinski," Scott stated unhelpfully from the couch.

Stiles whimpered and pulled his dad into another hug. His dad held on tight. "It's okay to tell me, Stiles."

Stiles shook his head adamantly. "You don't understand."

"So help me understand."

"No!" Stiles shouted as he pulled away from his dad. "You can't know! You don't need to know. It's too dangerous." He wiped furiously at his face as he cried. He couldn't let his dad know!

The sheriff touched Stiles shoulder softly. "I'm a cop, Stiles. If you are mixed in something dangerous, you need to tell me about it. How can I protect you if you won't talk to me?"

Stiles bit his lower lip as he sniffled. He couldn't do it. He couldn't be the one to tell his dad that he had been lying to him all this year. That he lost the pills because of werewolves. That it was his fault his best friend was bitten by a werewolf. That everything bad in his life stemmed from the night Peter killed Laura. At least, everything supernaturally bad was stemmed from that night.

He could tell his dad was saying something, but Stiles couldn't listen anymore. He just stood there frozen. He watched his dad pace. His dad had put his firearm in the holder at his hip, but his hand kept twitching to it. Stiles watched his dad's mouth as he spoke, but Stiles couldn't hear the words. It felt like hours were passing when it could have just been minutes.

It wasn't until he felt the presence of Derek's hand in his that Stiles could hear the voices in the room again.

"You want to bite my son to keep him from dying, but by biting him he could die?" the sheriff stated as if he were talking to a five year old. He was staring at Scott in shock. His eyes traveled to Stiles, only briefly glancing at Derek and their interlocked hands. "The answer is no. It's too dangerous."

Stiles nodded slowly and looked down. Okay, so no werewolf bite. Wait a moment. No werewolf bite? Since when did his dad make that decision? Sure, Stiles wasn't sure if he wanted to be a werewolf, but it was his decision.

"No?"

The sheriff nodded. "No. You are not risking your life like that. You could die, Stiles."

"I know that, Dad," Stiles stated. Derek squeezed his hand encouragingly. "I know that it could kill me, but so can the cancer."

The sheriff shook his head and collapsed into his favorite recliner. "I said no and that is final."

"It's my choice!" Stiles shouted. He moved away from the werewolf to stand in front of his father.

"Stiles, the bite could kill you within hours!"

"The cancer could kill me in four months!" Stiles shouted. He took a moment to calm down before he said, "I get that you are my father and you are looking out for me, but I have some news for you. I'm. Going. To. Die. Anyway."

"You can't die, Stiles," his father stated as if that alone would keep Stiles from leaving this world.

"Dad, I am dying," Stiles whispered. "Right now, the cancer is killing me. I have an expiration date."

The sheriff shook his head. "I can't let you die. I swore to your mother that I would protect you no matter what."

"You can't protect me from cancer, Dad," Stiles whispered as he knelt to look his dad in the eyes. The sheriff glared at him. When his father's eyes started to water, Stiles looked away.

"No, you aren't dying and you are not becoming a werewolf. That is final," his father whispered in a broken voice. "You are not going to die. We beat the cancer before and we can do it again."

"How?" Stiles asked.

The sheriff leapt out of the chair. He picked up several stacks of papers off of the coffee table and waved them in Stiles' direction. "The doctor gave me information about research studies and medical options, Stiles. Options that can keep you alive and human."

"Research studies? Medical options?" Stiles asked as he stood. "You want me to spend the rest of my life hooked up to machine after machine? You want me to go through every painful experiment the medical world has to offer?"

"They aren't all painful!"

"How would you know? Do you have to sit there when the nurse draws blood? Do you have to sit there when they cut you open again and again? Do you have to sit there and have them kill every cell in your body during radiation? Or when they say they get all of the cancer out but it only returns?"

"It wouldn't have returned—" The sheriff stopped talking and looked at the ground. He rubbed his hand over his face.

Stiles could fill in the rest. It wouldn't have returned if Stiles had been honest about the pills or if he had gone to the doctor's appointment when he was supposed to instead of waiting. If Stiles hadn't been saving his friends' lives, he could have stayed in remission. He could have saved his own life.

Stiles knew then that his father blamed him for it. He blamed Stiles for essentially killing himself. It was Stiles' fault after all. Stiles had been lying to his father for so long that it was easy and second nature now.

He took a step back away from his father. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't talk to his dad about this. It was his choice whether he sat through the experiments or took the bite. It was his choice if he did anything to try to prolong his life. It was his choice like it had been his decision to pull Scott out of bed late at night to search for a dead body in the woods. He kept backing up away from his father.

Derek tried to stop Stiles from retreating by placing a hand on his elbow, but Stiles ripped his arm away and fled up the stairs. He could hear his father calling after him, but he didn't stop running until he had slammed and locked his door. He slid to the floor against the door and let the tears fall as his hands raked over and over through his hair.


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn't possible. This had to be a dream. There was no way his dad could know about werewolves. There was no way that he was really dying from cancer. Of all the things that could have gone wrong in his life, Stiles never thought all of this would ever happen.

Stiles could hear his father's footsteps pounding up the stairs and stop just outside of his room. It had taken him years to memorize his father's footsteps. Which ones meant the sheriff was angry. Which ones meant he was exhausted. Which ones meant he was excited about something. Those footsteps were angry.

Stiles wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and waited for his dad to knock on the door or to yell at him. His dad was going to tell him he wasn't going to be a werewolf. His dad was going to force him into the hospital. Stiles knew that his dad wasn't going to give up.

Nothing happened. After a few minutes, the sheriff still hadn't said or done anything. Stiles listened to every noise in the hallway. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, so he started counting the seconds until his dad would speak.

After the first thirty seconds, the sheriff's footsteps sounded like he was pacing in the hallway.

After the two hundredth second, he could hear the rustling of his dad's uniform as he sat down on the floor.

After the three hundredth second, Stiles was ready to tear his hair out. Even he couldn't remain quiet that long. But still, the sheriff didn't make a sound. Stiles couldn't take the silence or anxiety any longer. He needed his dad to say or to do something. Anything.

"Dad?" Stiles whispered, finally breaking the silence.

"Stiles," his dad automatically replied.

Stiles sighed heavily and leaned back against the door. "Say something," he whispered.

"What would you like me to say?" his father bit out.

So his dad was still a mad. Could Stiles really blame him? He had spent his entire life thinking that werewolves didn't exist and now he finds out that his son wants to become one to stay alive. Did Stiles really want to be a werewolf?

"I just want you to say something, anything."

The sheriff sighed from the other side of the door, "Stiles, I just don't understand."

There was a lot that his dad didn't understand. There was too much that Stiles had learned about this year that he couldn't possibly cram it all into a heart-to-heart through a closed door with his dad. He knew he needed to let his dad into the room to talk. He needed to see his dad's face when he explained why he had lied to his dad so much this year. Stiles didn't want to see the anger or disappointment, but he knew he couldn't handle this conversation through a closed door.

Stiles took a moment to breathe in and out as steadily as he could before he stood. He unlocked the door before going and sitting down on his bed. It wasn't long until his dad was in the room and sitting down in Stiles' computer chair.

Stiles kept his head down and stared at his floor. This was truly unfamiliar territory. His dad was taking longer than usual to yell at Stiles, but he knew he deserved every angry word his father would say. Stiles deserved to be yelled at and to be grounded. He deserved all of the blame and guilt. He had been the one to lose his pills. He had lied repeatedly to his dad. It was his body that couldn't fight the cancer.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" the sheriff asked after what felt like hours of silence.

Stiles looked up, about to answer, but he couldn't seem to find the right words. His mouth opened and closed a few times. Why didn't he tell his dad? He stared at his dad, but his dad wasn't looking directly at him. He was looking past Stiles at the wall behind him. His face wasn't angry or sad. It was blank.

"Why didn't I tell you about werewolves?"

"Yes," his dad replied. Stiles would give anything for his dad to look at him directly. Even if his dad's face turned red and the veins on his neck almost popped, Stiles needed to see some kind of reaction. Anything would be better than his dad's unemotional face.

Stiles shook his head and concentrated on breathing again. He didn't feel a panic attack coming on, but he needed to think through what he was going to say to his dad. He started going through the timeline of events that had happened this year. So much had happened that Stiles was sure he couldn't explain it all to his dad. Stiles guessed that the beginning would be the best place to start. After all, he wasn't sure of what Scott had told his dad downstairs.

Stiles bit his lower lip before whispering, "I was safe…before I knew. You know? About werewolves. I was just the sheriff's kid who got into trouble a lot. I had one friend and had a crush on the smartest girl in school. I acted out every time I knew I had to go back to that hospital. The hospital where…she died."

He paused for a moment to wipe at his watery eyes. "I wasn't afraid of being killed by supernatural creatures. I wasn't afraid of anything because I knew you would protect me. No matter what I did or how badly I screwed up, you would protect me. Because you're my dad. Then one day Scott's a werewolf, Derek's a murder suspect, and I was watching people I've known my entire life get killed. They died and I couldn't do a thing to help them. And I couldn't stop lying to you because I knew the second you found out you'd be in more danger."

Stiles felt the tears falling down. He couldn't catch them all with his hands. His voice broke when he continued, "I honestly don't think I ever wanted you to know. I couldn't bury you like I buried…her."

Stiles covered his face with his hands and felt his body trembling again. "I couldn't watch you die too," he whispered. "It was my fault she died. I couldn't let it be my fault if you died too."

Stiles' dad tried to shush him as he pulled the boy into a tight hug. Stiles couldn't stop the sobs or the trembling as his dad rocked him back and forth. His dad was mumbling that everything would be okay and that it wasn't his fault, but Stiles knew the truth.

It was his fault.

It was his fault Scott was a werewolf. It was his fault Derek would always be a person of interest. It was his fault that they almost lost Boyd and Erica this year. It was his fault that his dad would never be happy. It was his fault his dad would have to watch him die. He'd have to watch Stiles die like his mom died all those years ago.


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles felt numb again when he finally stopped crying and shaking. He knew he was breaking down too much, but he felt safe in his dad's arms. His dad understood why he blamed himself, right? He had been the one to drag Scott out of his house to search for Laura Hale's body. It was his fault that Scott didn't get a ride home that night because Stiles had lied to his father to cover for his best friend.

If Scott hadn't been out there alone, Peter would never have bitten the teen. Scott wouldn't have had to risk his life to date Allison or almost kill Stiles and their friends when Peter went on his psychotic killing rampage. Stiles wouldn't have lost his pills when he saved the werewolves the night at the motel.

But Stiles knew good things had happened too. Scott and Allison were still going strong. They'd rescued both Erica and Boyd from the Alpha pack. Erica wasn't an epileptic anymore, and Boyd had someone to eat lunch with every day. Isaac had escaped his abusive father. These were all good things that had happened, right?

Even with these good things, Stiles had made so many bad decisions over this past year, and because of them so many people had died. The list of people he couldn't defend or protect grew longer each month. Maybe becoming a werewolf would help him protect others, especially his dad.

The sheriff lifted his son's chin so that they looked each other in the eyes. It broke his heart to see his son in so much pain. "You didn't kill your mother. It's not your fault she died."

Stiles shook his head and moved away from his dad. He covered his face with his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. His voice broke as he whispered, "If I hadn't been so much to handle…"

"No, Stiles," the sheriff nearly growled. "Your mother and I loved you more than anything in this world. She was so sick at the end. The doctors had given her only a few months to live, but you helped stretch it out to almost a year. It was your energetic personality that kept her with us as long as possible." The sheriff wiped his tears away from his own cheeks. "Your mother always looked forward to seeing you. She lit up every time I dropped off one of your drawings of the wolves and bears at the hospital. You kept me sane and kept me from breaking down so many times, Stiles."

Stiles didn't believe his dad. His mind flashed back to the night of Lydia's birthday party where she had laced the punch with wolfsbane. It had caused Stiles' hallucinations of his dad drunk and throwing a bottle at him. His father had blamed him. And Stiles knew it had to be true.

"When your mother passed away, I was devastated," the sheriff said. He put an arm around his son's shoulders and pulled him close. "I spent days in my bed. I couldn't move because everything reminded me of her. I missed her so much. She was my other half."

Stiles remembered the same feeling when he had laid on the bathroom floor the day of the funeral. He tried but couldn't remember his dad not getting out of bed. He just remembered fighting with everyone who came into the house and getting mad at his mom for leaving him. His dad was there, in the background. Wasn't he?

"It had to be a week after we had buried her that I finally moved from the bed," the sheriff said. "There were so many family friends who watched over you that I wallowed in my misery. But you were so young and so full of anger. You didn't understand why your mom couldn't take a pill to get better. I couldn't face you because I felt I had failed you as a father."

The two men remained quiet as the tears fell silently down their faces. Neither knew what to say. They hadn't spoken about Stiles' mom in years, especially about her death.

Finally, the sheriff spoke, "Do you remember breaking the vase?"

Stiles glanced at his dad in confusion. "What vase?"

The sheriff smiled sadly, "The stupid blue and yellow vase that your mother had hated more than anything in the whole world. It was ugly, but it was a wedding gift. Your mother thought it would be rude to get rid of it," he smiled to himself. "Do you remember what happened with it?"

Stiles nodded. He remembered breaking the vase. He remembered that an old lady was babysitting him, and she had been yelling at him to eat his cereal. But she had made the cereal wrong! Stiles remembered her pouring the milk in the bowl first, and he had refused to eat the cereal. Who on earth poured the milk first?

Stiles had been so angry that she didn't know that the cereal went first and then the milk. His mom had taught him how to make his own breakfast, and Stiles used to thrive on routine. It kept him focused and limited his hyperactivity. She was the only one who could keep him on task.

He remembered calling the old lady names and saying she wasn't his mom. She couldn't tell him what to do.

Stiles had been standing next to the coffee table when he picked up the ugly blue and yellow vase and threw it at the cereal bowl. Since Stiles was only eight years old and had terrible aim, the vase had shattered at the woman's feet. Even now, Stiles could feel the anger toward the woman and the shame for his actions.

He remembered it took seconds for him to hear his dad's angry footsteps above his head. His dad had stormed down the stairs and yelled at Stiles. He could remember his dad's face turning so red that Stiles thought it might explode. He remembered getting into trouble, but he didn't remember anything else happening.

"When I heard that vase shatter, my heart froze," the sheriff continued. "I thought you had been hurt."

Stiles wiped away the lonely tear that escaped down his face. "I just didn't want to eat the cereal wrong. I thought…I thought Mom would be mad that I didn't stick to my routine."

"God, no, Stiles," the sheriff said. "Your mother would have understood. I should have been the one to make the cereal. I should have been there to hold you and tell you everything was going to be alright. That vase was the ugliest thing on this earth, but it brought me back to you."

Stiles leaned his head onto his father's shoulder. "You had a lot going on too, Dad."

"I was so worried that I grounded you for weeks," the sheriff said. "Poor Ms. Winters wouldn't come back to the house after that. Something about a demon child who made cereal the wrong way."

"That's right," Stiles whispered. "At least I've gotten better at aiming." Both Stilinski men chuckled at that.

The sheriff lifted Stiles' chin once more to look into his son's eyes sincerely, "Please believe me when I say that you are the reason I got up that day. You are the reason I kept on living. You are not to blame for what happened to your mother," he paused, "and you are not to blame for your cancer, Stiles."

Stiles shook his head and pulled out of his dad's arms. He moved to stand in front of his window, biting his lower lip. "It was my fault that I lost my pills and didn't tell you. It's my fault that I keep lying and hurting others."

"Stiles, you need to be honest with me from now on," the sheriff said from the bed. "I need you to be one hundred percent honest no matter what. We can't change the past. But we can look towards the future." The sheriff stood and pulled open one of his son's notebooks on the disorganized desk. He turned it to a blank page. "I know you are determined to make your own choice, but I need you to do something for me."

"Anything," Stiles said as he turned to look at his dad.

"Make a list."

"A list?"

"Yes, make a list of five things you want to do with the time you have," the sheriff said as he wrote on the page. "We will do everything on this list before you decide to get the bite or to go through the medical options."

Stiles could have laughed at this situation. Hadn't he wanted to make a list earlier? "Why?"

"When your mom was sure she was going to…pass away, she made a list. Every chance we got, we crossed things off of the list," the sheriff said. He pulled out his wallet and unfolded a wrinkled piece of paper. "This was hers," the sheriff whispered as he laid it out next to the notebook.

Stiles stepped closer and looked over the worn paper. The handwriting was faded from the paper being unfolded and folded several times. There were water marks on the page, which Stiles guessed were tear stains. He ran his finger over the words and couldn't help smiling at his mom's familiar handwriting. It was his mom's list of extraordinary tasks she wanted to complete.

"I remember this," Stiles whispered. His fingers traced a crudely drawn wolf on the bottom of the paper. He had drawn this when his mom had tried to explain the cancer being terminal. She had talked about doing so much with him, but he hadn't thought it was a bucket list. He hadn't understood why she was saying he wouldn't see her anymore. He drew her the wolf to protect her while he wasn't there and told her that the wolf would make sure they saw each other again. She must have made the list after he left the hospital that day.

He traced the list with his fingers, stopped at the only thing not crossed off. "Take Stiles to the beach to teach him how to swim."

The sheriff placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "We tried so many times to go, but either the weather or your mom's health kept us from going. She was sad that she couldn't be the one to teach you how to swim."

"I learned how to swim at school," Stiles stated. "I remember how you used to come to every single one of the classes and cheer me on." He looked at his dad as the tears started to flow again. "You did that for her."

The sheriff nodded. He guided his son into the desk chair. "I don't want you to think of this as a list to do before you die; it's just a list of things to do before you embark on the next chapter of your life."

Stiles looked at the notebook. "Stiles' List of Extraordinary Deeds." He smiled up at his dad. "You want me to make a list like Mom's?"

"Yes, I want you to make a list like hers, and I will do whatever it takes for you to complete each one." His dad ran his hand through Stiles' hair. "And after you turn furry or if you decide to go through the medical options, we will make another list."

Stiles nodded. He took the pen from his dad and focused on the list. Before his dad left the room, Stiles heard him say, "College will be on the second list."

Stiles knew that if he survived the bite or the medical options, his dad would want him to go to college. He hadn't spent a lot of time thinking about his future over the years because he hadn't anticipated having one. Now, he might because of the werewolves in his life. A fifty-fifty chance of survival was a lot better than several months of fighting a losing battle with cancer.

He traced his mom's list again. It had been a long time since he felt close to her. He had wanted to remember her and to talk about her, but it was hard for his dad. Stiles never pushed his father on that issue. It was an unspoken agreement between them that Stiles' mom wasn't a topic to discuss. Only after getting a few drinks in his dad could he even ask about her. Stiles took a deep breath and concentrated on the task in front of him.

Stiles smiled fondly at his mother's list once more before he wiped the last of the tears off of his face. No more crying, he told himself. His mom had made a list for a reason. She had written out so many things that she wanted to do before she died, and now Stiles was making his own list. He wasn't fooled. This list would end up being a bucket list if the bite didn't take or if the medical options failed.

So the only question that remained was what he wanted to do before he died.


	12. Chapter 12

So sex was a thing that Stiles wanted to do before he died. Was it the first thing he wanted to cross off of his bucket list? Of course! Was it the most meaningful thing he could think of so that he could honor his mom? Nope. And he was 120% sure that he was never going to ask his dad for help in that area.

Besides, it wasn't as if there was a line of people who wanted to volunteer to take his v-card. Stiles had been trying unsuccessfully to get Lydia to notice him since third grade. He was sure if he played the "I'm dying and need to have one amazing moment in time with you" card, she'd probably still reject him. Oddly enough, Stiles was okay with that. It wasn't Lydia that seemed to pop into his mind when he thought about losing his virginity. Although, he wasn't exactly sure where the image of the soaking wet werewolf came from, especially whose shirt clung to him so well.

He threw his pen across the room and spun his chair to face the window. A lot had happened this week from learning about his expiration date to his dad finding out about werewolves. Two weeks ago he was worried he wouldn't pass Chemistry, and today he was trying to think of things to do before he dies.

A year ago he was regularly hit with objects and thrown into walls by a werewolf whereas the last several hours had that same werewolf holding him and comforting him. This was the same werewolf that seemed to pop up into Stiles thoughts and dreams a lot over this last year. Stiles didn't need to think about that right now. He needed to focus. He needed to come up with one thing that would honor his mom and be a daily reminder of living his life as best as possible with the time he has left.

What could be something meaningful? Stiles ran his hand through his hair and tried to imagine what his mom would say to him. After all of these years, it was still hard to imagine her voice. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his mom. She probably would have told him to find inspiration in something he had overlooked. He had read her list almost fifty times since his dad left the room and Stiles was still at a loss of what to do.

His mom's list had centered on giving Stiles the best childhood she could before she died. Almost every item had something to do with Stiles. From teaching him how to bat all the way to teaching him how to swim. There were a couple for just her and his dad, but Stiles didn't have that special someone to have a romantic picnic with in the preserve or to leave notes for each other in random books in the public library.

He did have his dad. The only thing he would ever want from his dad is to get him to stop eating unhealthy so he'll live a long life. That was a monumental task that he would never succeed in. Stiles couldn't eat healthy for the rest of his life either, even if it was for a few months. Curly fries were meant to be eaten.

Stiles turned back to his mom's list and traced the wolf he drew. If only his mom knew how important wolves would become for him. He knew his crude drawing of a wolf was nothing fancy compared to the sketches she used to draw. Every day after school until she got sick, Stiles and his mom would sit at the dining table and draw together.

Of course Stiles was terrible at drawing, but his mom was always there to encourage him. She always helped him come up with ideas and even hung the sketches up in his dad's office at work. His dad was very proud the drawing of his dad shaking Batman's hand. Well, it was more of two stick figures that had the words "Daddy" and "Batman" above their heads with their weirdly long arms touching. Whatever, Stiles was a prodigy when it came to drawing stick figures.

He smiled at the memory. He hadn't thought about drawing in so long. Maybe his mom's sketch book was still around? Stiles carefully folded his mom's list and put it in his wallet. As he stood, he slipped his wallet in his back pocket. Maybe his mom's sketches could give him some kind of inspiration for what he should do.

Stiles slipped out of his room and headed for the garage. It had taken his dad almost a year to pack all of his mom's art supplies up. Even after the stuff was packed up and moved to the garage, Stiles would find himself opening up each box to find his favorite of her sketchbooks. He would sit there staring at the drawings for hours and wishing his mom would be able to draw him again. But she was gone. When he reached junior high, he stopped going into the garage. His dad had stopped talking about his mom, so Stiles tried to stop bringing her up or thinking about her. He didn't want to upset his dad by getting caught with her old art supplies.

It took Stiles a while, but he finally found the right box hidden away at the back of the garage. He had to take a moment to catch his breath when he opened the box. There it was; the sketch book just sitting on top of everything just how he had left it. Stiles ran his hand across the cover to remove some of the dust that had gathered. He smiled at his mom's handwriting.

**Claudia and Stiles' Adventures**

Stiles took some time to look over every picture. His mom was an artist, an amazing artist. She had drawn so many pictures of Stiles when he was young and playing and laughing. There were some pictures of his dad with a broad smile on his face. Stiles hadn't seen that smile in a long, long time. He caught himself tracing his finger over some of her drawings of flowers and animals.

Then he saw it. The beautiful grey wolf standing across a meadow from a young Stiles. The wolf didn't seem angry, just curious. The wolf looked like it was seeing straight into Stiles' soul. This was what he wanted. This is what he needed to do to honor his mom.

He wanted this wolf as a tattoo.

Stiles put the box back and carried the sketchbook into the house. His dad, Scott, and Derek were all sitting in the living room watching a football game. Stiles would have said it looked like a normal night, if his dad didn't have his eyes tracking any movement either werewolf made.

Stiles cleared his throat to get their attention. His dad immediately muted the television. Stiles smirked because he couldn't remember his dad ever muting a sports game in his entire life.

His dad's eyes darted to the sketchbook before looking Stiles in the eye.

"I know that I have to have several things on my bucket list," Stiles began.

"Bucket list?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, you know, a list of things to do before you kick the bucket," Stiles stated.

"You mean your list of Extraordinary Deeds, Stiles," his dad corrected him.

Stiles kept himself from rolling his eyes. "Yes that. Well, I have been having trouble thinking of things to do before I either get the bite or we do the medical options. So I dug around the garage for Mom's old sketchbook of our adventures."

The sheriff glanced back at the sketchbook and nodded for Stiles to continue.

"I don't have a complete list, but there is something really important to me that I need to do," Stiles started. He sat down next to Derek and set the sketchbook on the coffee table. His dad leaned forward. "I would like to get a tattoo of one of mom's drawings."

Stiles waited for anger or sadness from his dad, but all he got was laughter.

Stiles almost pouted as he waited for his dad, Derek, and Scott to stop laughing at him. "What?" he demanded.

"Stiles, a tattoo? Couldn't you have chosen to pass Chemistry? You know, something you can do?" Scott choked out in between bursts of laughter.

"It's a good idea, and it honors Mom."

"You fainted when I got my tattoo," Scott replied. He shoved Stiles' shoulder with his own. "Do you think you could stay conscious when getting a tattoo on your own body?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "It was different. There was a needle, and it was happening to you." He opened the sketchbook to the wolf drawing. He took a deep breath before continuing, "This is something my mom drew and it connects me to her, I think."

He could feel a comforting hand on his back. He looked over to see Derek give him a half smile. "I think it sounds pretty cool."

"It's not like you'd need a blow torch afterwards," Scott added. His tone of voice was supportive, but it only seemed to freak Stiles' dad out a bit.

"You do not need a blow torch for a tattoo, Scott. Whoever told you that was messing with you. It's a dangerous tool and should not be used on someone's body, son," the sheriff stated seriously. Scott and Derek exchanged looks. "Stiles, if you want a tattoo, we'll have to research which places are the best in this area. It needs to be a clean facility and I need to make sure the artist can actually replicate this sketch," the sheriff said as he picked up the sketch book. "Do you want just the wolf or the whole scene?"

"Just the wolf," Stiles said. As the sheriff turned to leave, Stiles asked, "You aren't going to say no or question this?"

"Stiles, I've known you your entire life," the sheriff began. "The way I see it, you get the tattoo and it'll be a good reminder of your mom. Or you don't get the tattoo because you faint at the sight of the needle, in which you will have a great story to share with everyone. It's your choice, and I meant it when I said I would support you and help you cross everything off of your list."

Stiles smiled fondly at his dad. The sheriff left the room, and Stiles leaned back against the couch.

"So, can I post the video on YouTube?"

"Scott!"

"What? If you faint, won't you want to relive that moment?" Scott teased. Stiles punched his best friend in the arm.

"Thanks for the support."

"Hey, you told me you hated my tattoo minutes after I got it. You held me down when Derek used the blow torch on me. And you wanted me to get a tattoo of Jackson!"

"Of Jackson?!" Derek asked. He smirked at Scott. "Well, he would be flattered."

Stiles and Scott jumped into telling the story to Derek. It felt good for Stiles to laugh and joke around with them. After everything this year, it felt good to just tease one another and relax. Halfway through the story, he realized that he had never heard Derek laugh before, but he had to agree that Scott would look good with a kanima tramp stamp.

Stiles had to stop himself from staring so much at Derek's mouth. Did he always have bunny teeth? No, bad thought stay away. Since when did Derek's eyes crinkle a bit when he talked? Stiles shook his head and closed his eyes. His dad would be back soon and he still needed to decide where to put the tattoo. Stiles reached over and unmuted the game. He needed something to stare at other than the smiling werewolf next to him.

The sheriff was still in the other room, and Stiles caught some of the phone conversation. He was really giving the tattoo parlors the third degree. As the game on the television dragged on, Stiles found his eyes drifting closed. He felt safe and warm on the couch. A little nap couldn't hurt.

Stiles awoke a little while later. It was still dark outside, and he was safely snuggled against something warm. He turned his head slightly and nuzzled in closer to the warmth.

"Go back to sleep," his pillow ordered.

Stiles lifted his head to look at Derek. "We have to stop meeting like this," he whispered. Stiles smiled softly as Derek's chest shook with silent laughter. He looked around and saw that the game was still on.

"Your dad is still on the phone, and Scott is talking to Allison on his phone," Derek stated. "He hasn't told her what happened, but it sounds like everyone is really worried."

Stiles could read between the lines. Derek was letting him choose to tell them or leave them worrying. Stiles didn't want to think about the pack right now. He just wanted to focus on the tattoo. He sighed and curled back up against the werewolf. Who knew that muscles make a good pillow?

"Okay, so I have one place that we can go to," the sheriff said as he entered the living room. His eyes tracked every place that Stiles and Derek were connected and he simply raised an eyebrow. "Unless you would rather cuddle with a former murder suspect slash current werewolf."

Stiles pulled away slowly from Derek and felt his face flush. "We just fell asleep, Dad." He took the sketchbook from his dad's outstretched hand. "Tell me about the tattoo parlor."

The sheriff glanced at Derek before he took his usual spot across from Stiles. "It's nearby and they do have an opening tonight. We could also wait for the weekend."

Stiles took a deep breath. "And they can recreate the sketch completely, one hundred percent?"

"I even had the guy email me his portfolio. He's been tattooing for over fifteen years," the sheriff stated. "The background on the business was clear."

Stiles shook his head. Of course his dad would dot all the I's and cross all the T's. He turned slightly to Derek. Derek gave him a passive look and nudged him with his knee.

"If we do it tonight, you won't spend all week fretting over the needles and getting yourself overly worked up," Derek stated. "If we do it tonight though, it's permanent."

Stiles nodded. "So tonight?"

Scott reentered the living room and gave Stiles a worried look. "Did we decide on the tattoo thing?"

Stiles bit his lower lip to keep the smile off of his face. Of course Scott wouldn't use his super wolf hearing to listen in on the conversation. That would be the first thing Stiles would master. How to Listen to Distant Conversations 101. If he chose to become a werewolf, that is.

"Dad found a place. I guess it is now or never," Stiles said.

"You can always change your mind," Derek whispered.

"No, I think I need to do this now," Stiles replied.


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles wasn't entirely convinced that he needed to get out of the car to get the tattoo. He had been sitting inside his dad's cruiser for the better part of ten minutes while Scott, his dad, and Derek were inside talking with the tattoo artist. Whom Stiles might add happened to be Scott's tattoo artist from a few months back. The very same artist that Stiles had fainted in front of when Scott got his tattoo. This was going to be a fun night.

Stiles drummed his fingers against the dash as he tried to will the excess energy out of himself. He would have to sit still for an indeterminate amount of time while someone stabbed him over and over again. A walk in the park, right?

He watched as his dad and Scott followed the tattoo artist further into the parlor. It looked like his dad was having the guy make the stencil of the tattoo. Good. Less things for Stiles to worry about since he knew his dad would arrest the guy if he added a line that shouldn't be in the tattoo or tried to use his "artist license" to make the tattoo different. Stiles wanted an exact replica of his mom's drawing on his back. That was it.

Stiles tried to think of reasons why this artist wasn't going to work out when a sudden knock on the car window gave him a mini-heart attack. Stiles turned slowly to look at the werewolf who had regressed to his sourwolf self since the moment he sat down in the back seat of the cruiser earlier. Stiles didn't blame him. The last time Derek had been in this cruiser was when Stiles' dad arrested him for Laura's death. Oh, how times had changed. Truth be told, Stiles was still a little afraid of the werewolf.

"Stiles?" Derek's voice seemed a bit too soft for the werewolf. Stiles sighed and opened the door. He moved to get out only to get caught in the seatbelt. What a night already. Should he really be getting a tattoo when he can't even remember to unhook his seatbelt?

He finally maneuvered himself out of the seat belt and then the car to stand in front of the werewolf. "Derek?" he said mocking Derek's tone.

"You don't have to do this," his werewolf whispered.

Stiles gave a half shrug. "It's something that I need to do." It was true. He needed to do this for his mom. He had spent too many years not thinking about his mom to stop now. He needed to feel connected to her again. The only problem was the needle part of the tattoo. Stiles ran his hand through his hair repeatedly before asking, "Will…will you stay with me the whole time?" He lifted his eyes to Derek's and watched him give a slight nod.

"Of course. But if you faint, I'm going to let Scott post the video on the internet," Derek deadpanned. Stiles huffed out a laugh and blushed when Derek cracked a smile. When had things become so easy between the two of them? When had he started to count the colors in Derek's eyes?

Stiles shook his head of those thoughts and nodded towards the parlor. "I guess we should get in there before Scott decides he needs to have Allison's name as a tramp stamp."

"I heard that!" Scott shouted from the doorway. "And for the record, her name would go over my heart, and it would be beautiful." Stiles and Derek rolled their eyes before heading towards the front door of the parlor. Scott held the door open as they walked inside. Stiles didn't miss the way Derek stared down the tattoo artist as the guy made his way towards Stiles.

"Look, I don't make it a habit of tattooing people who faint on me, so if you faint, I stop tattooing," the artist stated, his beard bouncing with every word. "Got it?"

Stiles nodded and moved towards the tattoo chair. "Can you do the tattoo on my back?"

The artist nodded and started setting up his supplies. Stiles caught a few of his mumbled words and smiled at the tattoo artist's anger at having to sanitize everything twice because some sheriff's kid wants a tattoo. The artist lowered the chair so that it was horizontal.

"You'll need to remove your shirt for me to tattoo you," the guy stated. Stiles nodded. He reached for the hem of his shirt but froze. What if the guy didn't tattoo it like his mom's drawing? What if she was religiously against tattoos? What if the guy started the tattoo but Stiles fainted and ended up with a black trail of ink down the side of his body? Well, the last one wasn't a possibility, but it was still on the list of things he felt that he should freak out about.

Stiles tried to count to four to calm down, but horrible scenarios were playing in his head. He tried to breathe steadily, but he kept imagining fainting only to wake up with a unicorn tattooed on his forehead. He was about to turn to leave when he felt his shirt being lifted. He felt his arms being moved around and the shirt disappear off of his body.

Stiles felt a gentle, comforting pressure on his back that led him to lie face down on the tattoo chair. Stiles looked over his shoulder and saw Derek crouch down so that their faces were level.

"I don't want to make you do this if you don't want to," Derek whispered. "But if this is something that means a lot for you, I will be here every step of the way."

Stiles nodded and reached for his werewolf's hand. He heard some voices in the background, but he focused on Derek's eyes. Derek moved his other hand and pulled a rolling stool over to sit on. He held tightly to Stiles' hand as the tattoo artist discussed the procedures for tattooing him and made sure Stiles and his dad signed the consent forms.

Stiles wasn't paying attention to the artist. He kept his eyes trained on every movement Derek made. He could see his dad in the corner of his eye watching from a nearby chair. From the looks he was giving Derek, it was obvious that he disapproved of the werewolf holding his son's hand, but Stiles wouldn't get this tattoo any other way. He could hear Derek directing the artist on where to put the tattoo and approving of what it looked like. Even Scott and the sheriff chimed in their opinions. Stiles flinched when he felt the artist cleaning the area for the tattoo.

It wasn't until the machine turned on that Stiles' heartbeat started to race. He clenched Derek's hand so tight that if he weren't a werewolf, he was sure he would have broken Derek's hand.

"It's okay, Stiles, I've got you. You're fine," Derek whispered as he leaned close to Stiles' face. He kissed Stiles softly on the temple just before the needle touched Stiles' skin for the first time.

The pain was bearable in some areas of his back, but in others Stiles nearly screamed. The noise of the machine and Stiles' barely audible whimpers were the only sounds in the room. The tattoo seemed to take forever. As the artist began tattooing over Stiles' shoulder blade, Stiles started to clench every muscle in his body from the pain.

He turned watery eyes up to look at Derek and caught the slight movement of black veins disappearing under Derek's long sleeved shirt. Derek gave him a half a smile and stroked Stiles' hair reassuringly. Stiles only saw Derek take away his pain a couple of times. Each time, Stiles bit his lower lip and watched every inch of Derek's face making sure it wasn't too much for the werewolf.

When the artist moved to the middle of Stiles' back, Scott switched places with Derek. The pain was a lot more manageable and he didn't catch Scott trying to take his pain away. However, Scott did try to get Stiles to talk about anything he could. When it was obvious Stiles was going to remain quiet, Scott tried to catch him up on what all had been happening in Beacon Hills since Stiles and his dad left town last week for the doctor's appointment. Apparently Aiden had to join the lacrosse team in order to keep Lydia happy. He was very animated when he explained trying to teach Aiden lacrosse this past weekend. Apparently not all Alpha werewolves are amazing lacrosse players.

Stiles tried to listen; he really did. But the sound of the machine and the constant stabbing kept drawing his attention away from the story. He couldn't focus on anything else but the pain. After a while, he heard Derek suggest taking a ten minute break. The artist agreed and set aside the machine. Stiles sucked in a big gulp of air and closed his eyes. When he tried to move his arms, he felt the throbbing ache on his shoulder blades.

He heard his dad and Scott talk about food. "Curly fries," Stiles chimed in. The sheriff laughed before he leaned down to talk to his son.

"I'm going to run Scott down to the diner to grab some food for us," the sheriff said. Stiles opened his eyes and nodded. "Derek is staying here." He gave Derek an authoritative glare before patting Stiles on the arm.

Stiles smiled at the thought of food and closed his eyes. He listened to his dad and Scott's footsteps exit the room and tried to get some rest. Stiles knew he wasn't going to get to sleep anytime soon, but at least he could rest his eyes for a few minutes. Besides, he was going to get curly fries.

"You're doing great," Derek said as he sat down on the rolling stool. He reached over and ran his hand through Stiles' hair softly. Stiles gave him a shy smile and turned to hide the blush on his face. He knew he wasn't doing well. He was near tears for a big part of the tattoo. If it hadn't been for Derek's werewolfy powers, he probably would have been crying a whole lot.

"It looks amazing," Derek stated as he ran his fingers around the tattoo, careful not to touch it. Stiles felt the heat from every inch Derek's fingers touched of his skin. He shivered when the werewolf's fingers traveled up his neck and began to run slowly through his hair. If he were a cat, Stiles could have sworn he would have been purring at the sensation.

He gave himself a mental shake. This was Derek Hale. He shouldn't purr, or hypothetically purr, at the touch of Derek's fingers on his back. His back where no one had ever touched him like that before. He glanced up to see Derek had a look of pure contentment as he examined the tattoo. He knew Derek could see every single inch of the tattoo that the naked eye couldn't. Derek would be able to see every flaw with his werewolf eyes. Stiles bit his lower lip as he tried to focus on anything else. Anything else than Derek seeing Stiles' flaws.

"If I knew having you get a tattoo would shut you up, I would have dragged you here months ago," Derek commented. Stiles gave Derek a dirty look. He would have replied with a sarcastic remark, but the werewolf slowly lowered one eye.

Did Derek Hale just wink at him? Was Derek smiling?

"The hard part is done," the artist said as he came back over and sat in his own chair. "I have some slight coloring to do and then we'll be done."

Stiles nodded. He didn't want to continue the tattoo. He had already sat for…wow, two hours? His fingers clutched the edge of the chair as he listened to the man prepare the next set of ink. Stiles' fingers were slowly uncurled from the chair by Derek. Derek cupped Stiles' hand in his.

Stiles whispered, "Thanks for earlier."

Derek gave him a soft smile before giving the boy a kiss to the temple again. "It's almost done, and then we can go home."

Stiles nodded as the machine turned back on. Just a little bit longer, he repeated to himself over and over until the tattoo was finally finished. His dad and Scott weren't back by the time the tattoo was done. With his shoulder blades hurting, Stiles needed Derek's help getting off of the chair.

He kept his eyes closed as Derek moved him towards the floor length mirror. "Stiles, look at it," Derek said. Stiles opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. There it was the beautiful grey wolf that his mother had drawn nearly a decade ago. Its eyes were looking straight ahead, and Stiles felt his heart skip a beat. This was what he needed. This tattoo was what he needed to connect himself to his mom.

He felt his eyes water and he turned his head to lean it against Derek's shoulder. "Is it exactly right?" he found himself asking.

Derek gave him a big smile and squeezed his hand. "It's perfect."

Stiles couldn't help the tears that escaped as his eyes traced every single line. Even when his eye sight was blurry, he couldn't look anywhere else but at the wolf centered on his upper back. If it wasn't for the artist waiting for approval, Stiles could have stood there in Derek's arms staring at the tattoo all night.

"I think he likes it," Derek told the artist. Stiles nodded enthusiastically before reluctantly turning to face the artist. He explained how to clean the tattoo and tattoo maintenance. Stiles nodded along, but he didn't hear a word. He just leaned into Derek's embrace with a dopey smile on his face.

"Let's go home," he whispered as the artist went to get the bandage to cover the new tattoo. Derek smiled softly and pressed his forehead to Stiles'.


	14. Chapter 14

It was well past 2 am when the cruiser pulled onto the highway. The food was already gone, especially the curly fries. Stiles wasn't the only one starving as his dad and Scott hadn't had dinner that night. Even Derek wolfed down his food. Pun very much intended. The tattoo artist had been happy to see them off.

The ride home seemed to drag on forever. Stiles' back was still hurting a bit, so he couldn't sit properly in his seat. He had to readjust every few minutes as the backseat rubbed against the bandage in the worst way. When he readjusted for the fourth time, Derek reached over and pressed Stiles' face against Derek's chest.

"Just relax," the werewolf whispered as his fingers drew patterns in Stiles' lower back. "I know it's uncomfortable. Just try not to move your back too much."

Stiles nodded against the werewolf's chest and sighed as he let his muscles relax. Derek sure was comfortable. He smiled as his eyes started drifting closed. He really needed to stop this habit of falling asleep on werewolves. Well, werewolf. Well, okay, Derek. He just couldn't help how safe the werewolf made him feel.

Stiles was sleepy. He had slept off and on today, but he found himself more and more tired every day. His doctor had said it may be a side effect of the medication, and Stiles hated it. He always had a lot of energy. He could do all-nighters and still function at school the next day. Okay, sleeping through Harris's class helped too.

Today was just a big emotional blur. He had a lot to think about and tomorrow he had to decide if he was going to tell the pack about the illness. He knew that hiding it wouldn't help anyone, so he was going to have to tell them all. But did it have to happen immediately?

The question was whether or not he told them individually or all at a time. Stiles was still thinking of ways to tell his pack as he fell asleep.

It wasn't until the alarm started going off that he realized he had slept through the rest of the night. He stretched lazily in bed, flinching when the bandage pulled at his skin. He glanced around surprised to find himself alone in his room.

As he turned off his alarm, his dad walked in with the bottle of pills, orange juice, and a plate of eggs and sausage. "Morning, kiddo. How's the back?" he asked as he set everything on the side table.

Stiles rubbed his face and smiled. "It seems okay. What happened last night?"

The sheriff smiled as he handed a pill to his son. "You were out cold by the time we got home, so Derek carried you up here." He sat down next to his son on the bed and crossed his arms. "One day we are going to have a talk about you and Derek. And on this day, you will not lie to me. You will only tell me the basics that I need to know. And you will listen to any advice I give you."

Stiles could feel his face heating up as he drank down the orange juice. How had his dad noticed what was going on between Derek and him? What was going on between the two of them? Derek was just being there for a friend, wasn't he? Sure he never kissed Isaac on the forehead or held Erica when she was sad. That didn't mean he didn't have it in him to be like that to the pack, right?

Maybe Stiles was just reading into this situation too much. Maybe it was because Stiles was the first person Derek had gotten to know that was truly dying. That's what it was. There was no way a guy like Derek would ever go for a guy like Stiles. Derek was straight. He liked girls. Hell, he'd even dated a couple since meeting Stiles. And Stiles was definitely not a girl. But it didn't keep Stiles' heart from skipping a beat when he thought of Derek really wanting him or of remembering Derek's lips on his forehead from the night before.

He glanced at his dad's serious face before shrugging, "He's a friend." That was his story and he was sticking to it.

"Uh huh. He's a friend that you happen to cuddle with on a regular basis."

Good point.

"He's a friend who has been there for me a lot over the last year, and we've saved each other's lives a lot," Stiles stated. "Besides, I doubt he's into guys, especially terminally ill guys who have panic attacks on a regular basis."

He heard his dad sigh. "I'm not sure what kind of relationship you and he have, but it is definitely more than friends the way he looks at you. I've only ever seen a look like that, and it was how I looked at your mom." He gave Stiles a pat on the shoulder as he stood and headed for the door. "I don't know much about werewolves or kanimas or how to cure cancer, but I know you," the sheriff said as he looked back at his son, "and you've never looked happier than when you're in his arms."

Stiles stared at the closed door after his father left. Why did he feel like he just got his dad's blessing to be with Derek? Stiles shook his head slowly and ate his food. He was still pondering what his dad meant when the door slowly opened to reveal a well-rested Derek.

"Morning," the werewolf said as he stepped slightly into the room. He seemed to be hovering towards to the door, ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

Stiles gave him a weird look as he got up to gather his clothes for the day. "Morning," he replied. He moved to scratch his head, and groaned at the feel of the bandage. "Do you think I can take this thing off now?" he asked the skittish werewolf.

Derek nodded as he moved hesitantly towards Stiles. "Let me," he said as he helped Stiles pull his shirt over his head. "Like a Band-Aid or a turtle?"

"Band-Aid," Stiles replied and cried out when he felt the tape from the bandage pull at his skin. As soon as it was off he moved his shoulders around and sighed. It felt good to have moveable shoulders once again. He looked over his shoulder and smiled as Derek's eyes traced every line of the tattoo. "How's it looking?"

"Good, but we still need to wash it like the guy said."

"As long as I don't need a blow torch," Stiles tried to joke. Derek gave him a slight nod. Stiles bit his lower lip in confusion as he watched the werewolf move away from him. "Is there something wrong with it?" Stiles tried to look at his back and ended up chasing his back like a dog would his tail.

Stiles kept doing it until Derek stopped him with his hands and had a smirk on his face. Stiles smiled softly at Derek before pulling away to gather his clothes again. He followed Derek silently towards the bathroom where the werewolf had the soap and ointment set up. He smiled as Derek moved him to in front of the sink, his back towards the mirror.

Stiles glanced at Derek as he ran lukewarm water from the tap. "Derek?"

Derek looked over at him and gave him a half-smile, "Stiles, I have to clean your tattoo. Your dad already left for work, and Scott went home last night. You can't reach every inch of your back, so it's got to be me."

It didn't bother him to have Derek clean the tattoo. After what Derek had done for him, cleaning the tattoo seemed a little tame. Stiles nodded at the werewolf before turning to stare at his tattoo in the mirror. It looked amazing. Every line was right. There it was. His mother's drawing of a wolf was staring right at Stiles.

He tried not to flinch when Derek started to rub the soap onto his skin to wash away any dried up blood from before. "It's healing well," the werewolf commented as he poured a little bit of water onto Stiles' back to rinse the soap off. He smiled as the teen squirmed from the contact. "Stay still or I'll get water all over the bathroom."

"Bathrooms are meant to be wet," Stiles stated as he pouted. However, he stayed put as the werewolf used a few paper towels to dry his tattoo. His eyes tracked every movement Derek's hands made. Stiles sighed at the warmth from the werewolf's fingers as they rubbed the ointment into Stiles' tattoo. His dad's words from earlier drifted into his head. How did the werewolf look at him?

Was Derek really interested in him? Was Stiles interested in Derek?

The answer to the latter question was a resounding yes. Of course he was interested in Derek. He was a very hot werewolf who protected his pack before himself. Sure Derek made some tough and really stupid decisions in the past, but that didn't mean that the werewolf was a bad guy. He was different than when Stiles first met him. He didn't hit Stiles anymore or slam him into anything. He didn't call Stiles names. He protected Stiles and had gained his trust over the last several months.

Stiles smiled as he watched the meticulous way the werewolf took care of his tattoo. Even right now, Stiles felt that Derek was showing a different side of himself to him. He watched as the werewolf licked his lower lip as he wiped the ointment off of his fingers.

Maybe the werewolf did like him? Did Stiles really want to start something when he already has a death sentence? Maybe the bite would take and Stiles could become a powerful werewolf that protected Derek. Maybe the medical options really did work and he could stay human. Maybe he should stop thinking and kiss the werewolf back. Maybe he should focus on the werewolf who was currently cupping his face and kissing him for the first time.


	15. Chapter 15

Of all the things he could have imagined the werewolf doing in real life, Derek Hale tracing Stiles' lower lip with his tongue was not one of them. Actually, Fantasy Derek would have Stiles up against the wall while pounding hard into him right now. Stiles preferred Real Derek.

Real Derek was sweet and took his time learning Stiles' mouth with his tongue. He was playful with Stiles' tongue and gave a soft growl when Stiles yanked him forward by the shirt. Real Derek held onto him and ran his hands over the small of Stiles' back trying to map out the teen's body with his fingertips. Real Derek moaned when Stiles bit the werewolf's bottom lip and sucked on it.

Derek kissing him wasn't like how Heather or Lydia had kissed him in the past. Derek wasn't there for a one night stand or trying to calm him down. Derek was kissing him because he wanted to. He held Stiles because he wanted to. And he certainly did that with his tongue because he wanted to.

Stiles was so going to pretend he did not whimper like that when the werewolf pulled away. He stared into Derek's eyes and couldn't help the blush when Derek gave him a shy smile. "Wow," Stiles whispered as he slowly unclenched his hands from the front of Derek's shirt. The werewolf nodded and pulled Stiles hard against him.

Stiles could feel Derek's hardness through the werewolf's jeans. He experimentally rubbed himself against Derek and moaned at the contact. Was there any part of his werewolf that didn't feel amazing?

Derek's hands spanned across Stiles' ass, and he rubbed his hardness against Stiles several times. Okay, that whimper was completely justifiable. Stiles bit his lower lip to keep from moaning again. He closed his eyes as his arms wrapped around Derek's neck. "You feel incredible."

Derek's breath against Stiles' ear gave him goosebumps. "You have no idea how you feel to me," the werewolf whispered back as he licked and sucked a spot just under the boy's ear. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

Stiles shook his head and keened as Derek bit his neck softly. The werewolf licked and sucked the spot, adding his own mark to the boy's body. "Derek, please." He wasn't quite sure what he was begging the werewolf to do. He just knew he needed him to do something more.

Derek rubbed against Stiles once more before whispering, "I've wanted to kiss you for so long, since that night that you held me in the pool." He nuzzled his cheek against Stiles' neck making Stiles knees feel weak. He had to hold onto the werewolf tightly to remain standing. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you."

Stiles whimpered as the werewolf dipped his hands under Stiles' pants, his hands warm against Stiles' flesh. Stiles thrust his hips against the werewolf, desperate for the contact. Derek inhaled deeply against the boy's throat. His hands stopped moving suddenly and he held the boy still against him.

"I wish I could show you what you really mean to me, what you do to me," the werewolf whispered as he kissed his way back up Stiles' neck to his lips, "but we should probably get you to school." He gave Stiles a soft kiss on the tip of his nose before pulling away fully. He even took a step back away from Stiles. Stiles had to reach behind him for the counter to help hold himself up.

"Yeah, definitely need to stop. Now," Derek muttered as he looked Stiles up and down, pausing at Stiles' crotch and licking his lips. He glanced back at Stiles' face before quickly escaping from the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Stiles blinked a couple of times before nearly shouting, "Are you serious right now? Derek!"

Stiles heard the werewolf's head hit against the other side of the door. "How the hell am I supposed to go to school right now?" the boy asked as he moved towards the door. His forehead pressed against the door as his hand tried to turn the doorknob. Derek was holding the doorknob so that he couldn't turn it. "Derek?"

"Stiles, if I go back in there I will probably take you against the door...or the wall…or in the shower. "

Oh like Stiles really needed those images right now. His dick was already pressing uncomfortably against his pants. He reached down and readjusted himself as he groaned. Why didn't Derek want him? Did he do something wrong? Sure Stiles didn't have any real experience when it came to sex or making out or anything of that variety. But he was enthusiastic and loved to learn.

Maybe Derek regretted kissing him. "Don't you want me?" the boy whispered, surprised at the vulnerability in his voice. He tried to clear his throat to keep the feeling of rejection at bay.

"Trust me when I say I want you more than air to breathe," the werewolf replied. "I want to go back in there, but I want to do it right."

"What do you mean? Do what right?"

"I'm not good at being with someone long term. And with you, I don't want a few minutes in the bathroom before school for our first time together. I want to take my time and learn every inch of your body. I want to make you scream my name."

Stiles certainly wasn't going to complain about that. It was a good enough reason as any other to skip school.

Derek whispered, "I want you to be mine for the rest of our lives."

Wow. Stiles lowered himself to the floor and pressed his side against the door. For the rest of their lives? Okay, so the werewolf wasn't rejecting him. He just wanted to be with Stiles for the long run. He really didn't want a quickie before school one time. He wanted Stiles forever. And Stiles was feeling the same way. But, sex. Sexy times would be good right now. Especially right now.

Stiles thought about Derek's track record that he knew about. It's true that Derek didn't make the best decisions when it came to relationships. Well, Paige was more of an accident than a blatant disregard for life. Kate was a monumental disaster. And Jennifer Blake was a complete nightmare. Stiles still couldn't take a bath after what happened with the Darach.

Stiles wasn't sure what to say to Derek. A half hour ago he was sure the werewolf was straight and didn't want him. Now Derek wanted to be with him for the rest of their lives. Well, the rest of Stiles' life which could be a few months. Stiles was surprised that he wasn't panicking or freaking out right now. The thought of being with Derek for the rest of his life was actually calming. It felt almost right.

Stiles shook his head. There were still a lot of things Stiles needed to decide though. He needed to decide which path he was going to take, and he couldn't decide it based on Derek being a werewolf. He needed to decide it based on what Stiles wanted for his future. He needed to choose for himself whether to take the bite or to do the medical options. He wasn't some teenage girl trying to become a vampire to keep a guy. He was a teenage boy who had a terminal illness with limited options.

But how great would it be to have the guy he loved beside him every step of the way? Whoa, love? Stiles was pretty sure you needed to date someone before you blurted out that you love them. Stiles sighed and tried to concentrate on what Derek was whispering on the other side of the door. Derek needed to take things slow.

Derek had been through a lot and had made a lot of tough choices, and Stiles wasn't sure how the werewolf was still standing.

Stiles could do this for him though. Stiles could be patient and not push him. Hell, he'd gone 17 years without sex. Waiting longer wouldn't kill him; well it wouldn't now that Jennifer was dead. If Derek wanted to take things slow and be with Stiles for long term, then Stiles accepted that. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, Derek, okay," Stiles replied. "I want to be with you, and I am okay with taking things slow. You're worth it."

Stiles could hear the audible sound of Derek sighing. He gave the door a half-smile as he stuck his hand under the door. Immediately, Derek's hand held his.

"Is there a reason you couldn't tell me this before you kissed me or at least to my face?" the boy asked.

Derek gave a short chuckle. "There was no way I could have kept my hands off of you no matter what I needed to say."

Stiles was never the guy that others couldn't keep their hands off of. It felt amazing to feel wanted. "Does this mean you want to be my boyfriend?" Stiles flinched at the weird question. Had he really asked Derek to be his boyfriend?

"For starters," Derek replied. Stiles wasn't looking in the mirror right then, but he was sure he just gave the door the brightest smile that he had ever given anyone.


End file.
